


Conquer(ed)

by ellipsisthegreat



Series: Conquer(ed) [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Blood Play, Dubious Consent, F/M, Intense Violence, Knife Play, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Multi, Rough Sex, about a million other things I'm not thinking of, basically hardcore mirror-verse, cuddling as a kink, death of minor characters blood and gore, intense torture, sociopathic/psychopathic behavior (exhibited by adults and children), threat to a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsisthegreat/pseuds/ellipsisthegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it comes to the art of putting a person back together, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy is at the top of his field. Of course, he much prefers taking them apart. Taking apart his wife brings him under the scrutiny of the Terran Empire, but that leads him to James Kirk. James Kirk leads him to the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So like a year ago I wrote these two stories, ‘a swell affair’ and ‘a dark sort of love’. Then I decided I should write a story detailing what happened between them. This is no longer that story. It borrows scenes/lines from both, so if you’ve read them don’t be surprised to see things repeated, but it turned into a completely different monster…you don’t need to (and probably shouldn’t) read them to understand what’s going on.
> 
> Anyhow, um. When I started writing this I figured it’d be mirror-lite, if it even managed to be that. As it turns out I’m capable of writing some seriously twisted shit (tresa’s comment was: “omg how did this come out of your adorably fluffy head; im a little scared atm ngl”). ON THE OTHER HAND, CUDDLING SOMEHOW BECAME A WEIRD KINK? IDEK, GUYS. So, yeah. You should definitely read/heed those warnings, but I really hope you’ll read the story, anyhow. ;__;
> 
> I’m really, truly, seriously sorry to anyone/everyone who’s been more or less keeping up with my progress with this, especially the wonderful girls over at jim_and_bones, because no lie this has been pretty much finished since last May or something ridiculous. OOPS. To be honest, I’m just glad I didn’t lose it when my hard-drive crashed in November—thank GOD I’d already sent a copy to tresa! I DID lose my original cover, but as it happens I like this cover a lot better, so. Sometimes good things come out of truly horrible situations. Still editing some of the later parts a bit, but I’m off ‘til, like, Friday so I imagine they’ll be up very soon.
> 
> THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE. SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR ANY NIGHTMARES. I PROMISE I’M NOT A SERIAL KILLER. PROBABLY.
> 
> And, of course: ENJOY!
> 
> (You can also [read it on livejournal](http://ellipsisthgreat.livejournal.com/28179.html).)

It was a marriage of convenience, naturally. Jocelyn McCoy, nee Darnell, possessed features pretty enough—and parents rich enough—to catch his interest, and he a family high-born enough to catch hers.

He didn’t love her. He hardly tolerated his parents, truth be told.

Still, she was well-trained, and able to hold his attention in bed. The same could not be said for her, apparently, and worse she didn’t have the intelligence to conduct her affairs elsewhere.

Even if he was at the hospital more often than not he noticed when his pillow reeked of another man’s aftershave.

A man of his standing demanded a certain amount of respect. At the very least he expected to be told when someone else was going to be in his bed.

Then again, infidelity was a sufficient excuse to get rid of her without consequence. He had only to catch her with someone whose family wouldn’t dare retaliate.

But the first was a high-born first son, a modern day duke from New Jersey with swaggering hips and a smile that could fell a woman at twenty paces.

Bartolo was the first McCoy knew about, at least. And he only found out by chance; a cursory, routine glance through Jocelyn’s call history, where the same number (labeled ‘Richard’—she was clever, he’d give her that) showed up one too many times for his tastes.

When ‘Richard’ mysteriously stopped appearing on her PADD (“ _Bartolo Suarez dies during routine surgery_ ”), he was shortly replaced by ‘Peter’ (“ _Kiro Hoshi contracts Andorian shingles, narrowly avoids death_ ”), who was followed by several others.

Clay Treadway came up as ‘Oscar,’ and he was the mistake McCoy had longed for.

Jocelyn’s other lovers had to be taken care of quietly, with no concrete evidence to trace them back to McCoy himself (a favor here, a bribe there).

But Treadway wasn’t sole heir to a fortune, or the oldest son of the most powerful remaining shogunate of Japan. He could hope for no help from his family, or even vengeance for his death.

Neither could Jocelyn.

It still took careful planning—even in a cutthroat world like the one comprising the Empire there was a veneer of civilization that had to be maintained. A poorly executed murder never ended well.

He walked in on them together on a stormy night after a long shift, when a short temper and high emotions could be blamed on fatigue and bad weather. The hypo he used was a unique, self-made blend, but one he was known to carry around in case of emergencies.

He may have whispered “Did you think I didn’t know?” into her ear as she lost consciousness, but she didn’t live long enough to tell anyone.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

“For all my planning, I never did get around to deciding what to do with you,” he said. Gazed down at his wife’s lover, who was splayed out on the table. “What do you think, Mr. Treadway?”

“You could just let me go,” Treadway said, smiling uneasily.

“Oh, that wouldn’t do,” McCoy said. “You did sleep with my wife, after all. Try again.”

“Cut off a finger and send it to my folks for ransom?”

“They can’t afford what I’d ask.” McCoy leaned against the table. “And somehow I doubt they’d even try. You aren’t nearly up to par with Jocelyn’s former lovers.”

“I’m just that good, I guess.” Treadway cringed at McCoy’s expression.

“First thing I’ll have to do is shut you up,” McCoy decided. “I could cut your tongue out, I suppose, but you’d bleed to death before I could get to anything else.”

“I don’t want to die,” Treadway said, desperation bleeding into his voice for the first time.

McCoy snorted. “You weren’t ever going to get out of this alive, I’m afraid.” He ignored Treadway’s sudden struggle to get out of the manacles on his wrists. “I think I’ll sew your mouth shut.” He smiled, reaching for the needle and surgical thread among his supplies. “Yes; then I can cut them back open if I decide I want to hear you screaming. That’ll be nice.”

“Oh, God, please don’t,” Treadway said.

“God doesn’t exist, here,” McCoy said as he threaded the needle. “Only me. Stay still or I’ll use a paralytic.”

“You’ll kill me fast, right?” Treadway asked, staring at McCoy’s hands. “If I cooperate?”

“If I wanted to kill you fast I’d cut your tongue out,” McCoy said. “I just don’t want to waste the drugs.”

Treadway kicked and thrashed as McCoy drew nearer. “I’m not going to cooperate, then, you sadistic fucking—”

McCoy rolled his eyes, setting the hypospray back down on the table next to his other instruments. “I really didn’t want to waste anything on you, Treadway, you’re proving to be all kinds of inconvenient.”

Limp on the operating table, eyes frozen wide, Treadway stared up at him.

“I usually just poison people,” McCoy confessed. “Or harvest organs. I imagine you’re teeming with all sorts of nasty diseases, though, and I think this calls for a more hands-on approach than poison. Suppose I’ll just have to try something new.”

He tied off the last stitch.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked. “I don’t see why you’re so set on being difficult. Don’t pass out, now, we’ve barely even started. Where was I?” He tapped the hilt of his dagger against his chin before remembering. Pulled the thread taut and cut it with a  flick of his wrist. “Right. Poison’s out, surgery’s out, hanging and the like are too quick. Can’t cut any major arteries, obviously, and I think cutting parts of you off and cauterizing before you bleed out would be tedious.”

He closed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. Ran his eyes over the various instruments hanging on the walls before they landed on a small, unobtrusive knife.

“I’ve never skinned a person before,” he said as he strode over to the wall. “Always wanted to try it but never had the occasion.” He tested the blade on his finger before turning back to Treadway. “Guess it’d be pretty fitting, seeing as how you’ve been stripping my wife down to nothing for the past…how long has it been? A few months, a year?”

He pulled a chair next to the table and flopped into it. “What do you reckon would be the best way to go about this?” Considered Treadway for a moment. “I’ll improvise, I guess.” He rested the blade against Treadway’s skin.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” he said as he peeled back the first strip of skin, slowly, carefully. Paid no mind to the muffled screams of pain coming from Treadway’s mouth. “It isn’t your fault my wife’s a traitorous whore.” He straightened. Placed what used to be Treadway’s cheek delicately on the table adjacent to his work bench. Cocking his head to one side thoughtfully, he said, “Then again, I’m sure you saw the tan line on her ring finger.”

Treadway howled.

“Hush, now,” McCoy said, his voice a soothing coo. “Don’t want to wake Jocelyn up before it’s her turn, do you?”

A broken, animalistic sound escaped Treadway, then, but McCoy just chuckled and continued his work. Hummed to the beat of the staccato screams from Treadway and Jocelyn’s soft, almost melodic snoring. She was a lady even at her most vulnerable—had the makings of a perfect little trophy wife, if not for her unfortunate habit of presenting her cunt to anyone with the money to afford it.

“You look a right mess, Mr. Treadway,” McCoy said, surveying his work with a frown. He’d never skinned anything larger than a rabbit, before, and wished he had thought to practice. This early attempt was wholly unsatisfactory. “Let’s turn you over and see if we can’t get your back off in one long strip.”

Treadway screamed. Shook his head despite the horrific pain the movement undoubtedly sent shooting through his body.

“I’ll bet we can, darling. I just need you to set still,” McCoy said as he rolled the shuddering man over. A few careful incisions. He began teasing the flesh from Treadway’s shoulder. “Shit! Now look what you’ve gone and made me do, Treadway.” He set the torn strip of skin next to the rest . “This is going to look a sight when I’ve sewn it all back together; like a damn Halloween costume gone wrong.”

He wrinkled his nose at the thought, but continued determinedly. It was almost an hour before he finished his gruesome work.

He secured a set of large metal cuffs around Treadway’s raw wrists. Attaching them to a chain hanging from the ceiling, he strung the man up so he was facing the soon-to-be-late Mrs. McCoy. He injected her with the antidote of his sedative, and broke a shaker of salt over Treadway’s head.

“Now you can help wake her up,” he said. He smirked and tugged off his surgical mask as Treadway’s stifled bellows once again filled the basement. Jocelyn began to stir. “Wake up, Jocelyn.”

She blinked dumbly as her body struggled to throw off the aftereffects of the tranquilizer. She soon gave up and let them close again.

“Open your eyes,” he said. He watched as she finally focused on Treadway, whose struggles had lessened as blood loss and fatigue set in. The look in her eyes sent a shiver down his spine, his cock twitching. He wished she would scream. Vowed not to let her die until she did.

“Leonard,” she said when she saw him. Crying already—perhaps she wouldn’t have made such a perfect trophy wife, after all.

“Hush, darling,” he said, standing from his bench and approaching her. “I don’t particularly want to gag you, but I will if you insist on blubbering. I’d be much obliged if you limited yourself to screaming.”

Of course she only cried harder. “Leonard, please. Please don’t.”

He cupped her face in a hand. “You made a mistake, Joss.” He looked at Treadway, feigning a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure you chose him because you thought he’d piss me off the most, which is true, but he’s a nobody. A younger son of a minor noble, high class enough to afford your interest but not much else.” She nuzzled his hand like she actually thought she could seduce her way out. Clucking his tongue, he said, “Oh, Jocelyn. Sweetheart.”

A rat twining itself around Treadway’s feet bit down on his toe, eliciting a weak cry from behind the stitches.

“You should have stuck to the rich lords who could offer you some protection,” he said. “Your Bartolos and Williams.” Her eyes widened as realization struck her, and he smiled. “Surely you didn’t actually think I loved you?” He chuckled deep in his throat, dark and sinister. “So now you’ll suffer my full wrath, and your poor, hapless little lover will, too.”

“Please,” she said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it.

“Maybe if you’d begged this pretty in bed, sugar.” He patted her cheek and straightened, kicking a rat away from his feet and toward Clay’s shuddering form. Back to her, he pulled on a glove, flexing his fingers in the latex before putting on the other. He yanked his surgical mask back up over his mouth.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, louder now, with all the conviction and desperation of someone on the precipices of death. “It’s yours. I swear it’s yours.”

“Well bless your heart, Joss, I know,” he said. Waved a hand at the device sitting in the far corner of the room. Twirling a scalpel idly he asked, “What do you think the incubator is for?”

She gasped and threw herself as far away from him as her chains would allow. A chanting cry of ‘no’ poured from her lips. The piteous sound quickly transformed into a glorious crescendo of sound as her voice echoed throughout the room.

He placed a steadying hand on her stomach, which was treacherously flat at this early stage. Pressing the scalpel to her skin he said, “Now hush ‘til I give you something to scream about.”


	2. Chapter 2

When he first discovered Jocelyn’s little parting gift, he was certain it was a final act of spite from beyond the grave. A daughter, when he could so have used a son.

Then, a month after Joanna’s third birthday, he came home to find her operating on her dolls. Slicing them open with all the careful precision of a future surgeon. A year later she moved on to small animals she caught in the back yard. (Teresa, her nanny, helped catch them but the traps they used were of Joanna’s own design. She was only three, after all, so McCoy would forgive her the need to depend on another.)

When Teresa reported Joanna was withholding anesthesia he couldn’t possibly have been more proud of her—not if her name was Joseph, not if she had a penis. By Joanna’s fifth birthday, he was convinced having a daughter might just have been the best thing Jocelyn had ever done for him.

“Daddy, what’s the best way to drug someone?” Joanna asked as she watched him work, chin in her hands, little feet swinging idly.

McCoy glanced up from his PADD to look at his daughter. “Now why do you need to drug someone, sweet pea?”

“One of the girls in my class is a bully,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s unseemly.”

“So you’re going to kill her?” he asked, eyebrows going up.

“Should I just scare her, instead? I have to put her down hard the first time or she’ll just try to get back at me.” She frowned at him. “I don’t want to start a feud two weeks into Kindergarten, Daddy.”

“There’s nothing you can do now that won’t start a feud, but you shouldn’t just go and kill someone, either,” he said. “What you ought to do for now is kill her with kindness.”

Her forehead crinkled. “You can’t kill people with kindness.”

“Certainly you can,” he said. “Do you know where that phrase comes from?”

She shook her head.

“Well, when mama apes give birth, sometimes they’re so happy about it that they hug their babies,” he said. “But, since apes are so big, they end up suffocating and killing them.”

She frowned skeptically. “So I should hug her to death?”

“Not exactly, no,” he said, chuckling. “Ingratiate yourself with this girl—make her think you two are like-minded, that you want to be friends and all. Get her to trust you, and eventually she’ll let something slip that you can use against her. Then you can either destroy her or use her to do things for you so you don’t have to dirty your hands.”

She considered him for a moment, head cocked to one side thoughtfully. “How does a person inner—ingrid—”

“Ingratiate,” he said, but a knock on the door kept him from explaining.

A servant girl entered the room, bowing low. “An emissary from the emperor wishes to speak with you, sir,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “Now how do you suppose an emissary got all the way to my front porch without my hearing about it, little lady?”

He could see her trying not to grimace, her hair falling around her face as she shook her head. “I only know what I’ve been told, sir, which is that the emissary is requesting an audience with you.”

“Well, show them in,” he said. “And have whoever was on duty this morning sent to my chambers, won’t you? Tell someone to send up those new scalpels, while you’re at it.” He gave her a wicked smile as she bowed again. “There’s a good girl.”

“Can I come, Daddy?” Joanna asked, looking up at him with his own wide, hazel eyes.

“You aren’t quite old enough to sit in, sweet pea,” he said, standing. “Besides, it’s time for your lunch. Give Daddy a kiss and go with Bernice.”

She stood and kissed his cheek loudly. Allowed her nanny to take her hand. “May I help cut up the chicken, today, Bernice?”

“Not if you’re going to dissect the livers like you did last time,” Bernice said. “You completely ruined them.”

“I only did it because livers are gross,” Joanna said as the doors closed behind them.

McCoy took his reading glasses off and placed them in a desk drawer, taking out a dagger as he stood.

“Dr. Philip Boyce, royal physician,” the servant girl said softly, eyes on the floor, hands clasped behind her back. She let herself out as his visitor came in, closing the door behind her.

“Doctor,” McCoy said, extending a hand in welcome.

“Doctor,” Boyce replied, shaking his hand. “Shall we sit?”

“Please do,” he said, moving around to the front of his desk and leaning back against it. “What can I help you with, sir? I’m assuming this isn’t a social call.”

“Not exactly,” Boyce said. “I’m here at the request of the emperor. To be more precise, the emperor sent me to ask you to join Starfleet—”

“I don’t fly,” he said quickly, snapping the words out more forcefully than he’d meant to.

“Or, barring that,” Boyce continued as if McCoy hadn’t interrupted, “he asks if you would be at all interested in working at the palace as a court physician.” He smiled tightly. “I’m afraid we’re in rather dire need of a new surgeon.”

McCoy pursed his lips together. “I have a practice here.”

“No, you don’t,” Boyce said. “Or at least, you won’t for much longer. You’re selling it.”

The problem with being good at your job, McCoy reflected—being good at tearing people apart or putting them back together or both—was that eventually someone cottoned on to how good you were.

With a resigned sigh, he said, “Of course I am.”

“I’m glad to have that settled,” Boyce said. “I do so hate to drop this on you and run, but as it turns out my job isn’t actually to go around recruiting snot-nosed assholes like you.”

“Right,” McCoy said with a snort. “Before you go, Dr. Boyce, may I ask how the emperor even heard of me? This isn’t exactly a big town, you see…”

“The emperor’s wanted to hire you since he heard the story behind those skeletons hanging outside. He just didn’t have an opening until the day before yesterday.” Boyce sneered. “Believe it or not he does need to have an excuse to…replace someone. Politics.”

So McCoy packed himself and his daughter up and moved to the capital.

Joanna was truly the only good thing to come of Jocelyn’s death.

Well, the only good besides getting rid of the dirty slut.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

Having a good time in Georgia was going to a bar and watching a bunch of rednecks fuck the first girl to get too drunk to fight back. (McCoy’s fondness for this sport lessened after Joanna was born, but he soon found drugging the rednecks and watching the girls take revenge was just as much fun.)

In the capital, the emperor’s idea of entertainment was a sort of perverse revival of the gladiators from Ancient Roman times. Slaves suited for fighting, most of them former soldiers from worlds the Empire had overthrown, were given a weapon and forced to fight. The starting uniform for men and woman was a loincloth (they won armor off of other slaves, if they could), so McCoy still got to see his fair share of tits.

It was a small consolation given that His Grace, Emperor Jonathon Archer, forced McCoy to treat his favorite fighters after every match.

Kirk made his debut as a gladiator on Joanna’s sixth birthday.

“His eyes match my dress,” she said as he stepped into the arena. She smoothed her skirt down.

“They do.” He squinted at the man taking his first tentative steps out of his cage. “Looks too well-fed to be a slave.” He glanced at Archer. “You allowing peasants to fight if they’re of a mind?”

“He was a cadet in my Academy,” Archer said, motioning at a servant with his dagger. The servant moved closer, presenting a platter of fruit to him.

One of McCoy’s eyebrows arched. “What’d a cadet do to piss you off so damned bad?”

“His older brother was the lead scientist on Deneva.” Archer speared a pineapple square daintily.

Both eyebrows went up. “That makes him the Shuttle 37 baby. George Kirk’s son?”

“Which is why he is a gladiator,” Archer said. “I had planned to send his nephews to the mines, but his mother traded him for their lives. He was surprisingly willing to take their places.”

“Loyalty is a rare trait, these days,” McCoy said, surprised.

“A bad one?” Joanna tore her eyes away from the arena to look up at her father.

“It is when the person you’re loyal to isn’t loyal to you,” McCoy said. “Winona Kirk isn’t known for it.”

“Makes you wonder what she’s up to, doesn’t it?” Archer asked.

“Indeed,” Captain Chris Pike, one of Archer’s most highly decorated Starfleet officers, said. “I shouldn’t think she can hope her son will be of any use to her as a slave, but to what end does she plan to use her grandsons?”

“A puzzlement, to be sure, but one that can only be answered by time,” Archer said.

“Not only,” Pike said with a cruel smirk and a sideways glance at McCoy.

“Don’t operate on ladies,” McCoy said.

Pike gave him a sharp look, eyes flickering to Joanna and back again. “Winona Kirk is many things,” he said finally, “most of them commendable, in their way—but a lady is not one of them.”

McCoy chose not to reply, eyeing Pike warily.

“I like him,” Joanna said loudly. Giggled as Kirk skewered one opponent with a trident taken from the body of another.

“Do you, now?” McCoy asked, wincing when he noticed one of the emperor’s favorites among the bodies marking Kirk’s path. “Why’s that?”

“He didn’t go after the biggest guy, first, like lots of people do,” she said. “He went after the guy with the most armor and let the other guys take care of the big guy. The guy with the most armor is supposed to be the best fighter, not the biggest guy.”

“Don’t you think he should’ve let the other guys wear the best fighter down?” Archer asked. “He’s probably tired, now.”

“No way.” Joanna rolled her eyes, and McCoy sucked in a breath, waiting for Archer to strike her down for her insolence. Held the breath even when Archer regarded her with a look of mild curiosity and amusement, waving at her to proceed. “That guy was a stuck up meatball head and a coward. He always waited ‘til last to start fighting so everyone else was too tired to stand up to him. Kirk saw that, but nobody else did. So now he’s still strong, and not only do the other guys think he must be a great fighter for beating that guy, but they also think he must be tired ‘cause he dragged the fight out.”

“I see,” Archer said.

McCoy released the breath.

She sighed and propped her chin up on a hand. “And now he’s just mowing them over.”

“We have tigers,” Archer said.

“They’re chained and they’d go after the dead ones, anyway,” she said, hopping down from her chair. “I need to go back to my room before the cat bleeds out, Daddy.”

McCoy leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “The spare regenerator is in the top drawer.”

She nodded and curtsied to Archer and Pike before turning and skipping out the door, Ginger (the newest nanny) close behind.

“She’s a lovely girl, McCoy,” Archer said.

“Thank you. I’m quite proud of her,” McCoy said, as everyone turned their attention back on the few sorry souls left in the arena.

“You operated on the late Lady McCoy,” Pike said after a moment’s silence.

“I did not operate on Lady McCoy,” McCoy said firmly, eyes never leaving Kirk’s naked, scarred back. “I slit her whore stomach open, and then I left her to the rats and roaches.”

“Such animosity,” Archer said, chuckling.

“I don’t take kindly to those who don’t return my loyalty.” McCoy stood, bowing. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a few experiments of my own that need tending to.”

Archer nodded, waving dismissively.

McCoy very carefully did not look back at Kirk as he left the room.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

“Kirk isn’t going to make it as a gladiator,” Archer said, frowning, as Kirk beheaded another of his favorites (the third since Kirk’s first appearance).

“He’s doing well,” McCoy said.

“Yes, and we’re running out of gladiators,” Archer said. “The people don’t like one person to win all the time.”

McCoy cocked his head to one side, waiting for Archer to continue.

“But they like him too much for him to suddenly die.” Archer let out a long, dissatisfied sigh. Looked at McCoy out of the corner of his eye. “I was thinking of selling him.”

“He would make a good bodyguard,” McCoy said.

“I heard he’s slept with most of the other gladiators and more than a few of the guards,” Pike said flippantly. “He might do well as a sex slave. No one would object to your trying that fiery spirit out on a slightly different battlefield.”

“Trust a man that talented with a blade in my bed?” Archer asked, laughing. “You won’t take my throne that way, Captain.”

Pike laughed, but didn’t argue the accusation.

“Someone else might like to break him,” McCoy said. When neither of the other men replied, he tore his gaze away from the arena to look at them. Carefully, he said, “I’m told there are those who enjoy a little fight in their bed partner.”

“Partner?” Pike asked.

McCoy shrugged.

“You don’t ask for much, McCoy, I’ll give you that,” Archer said. “But when you do ask for something, you don’t hold your punches.”

“Hippocratic Oath, Majesty,” McCoy said. “I never punch anyone.”

Archer laughed again. “Very well, McCoy. And who knows, someone around to warm your bed might just improve that sullen disposition of yours.”

“What do you plan to do with him after you’ve broken him?” Pike asked.

“Oh, I like to draw these things out,” McCoy said. “I’ll have lots of time to think about it.”

Pike paused for a moment. He licked his lips and said, slowly, “He was doing very well in the Academy, before all of this.”

“I don’t like space,” McCoy said sharply.

Pike didn’t reply, but his jaw was tight as he turned his attention back to the arena.

“We could use more doctors in the ‘Fleet,” Archer said. “And with a kid like Kirk at your side…well, there were lots of stories going around about him before he came here. Smart, vicious…you could go far.”

“Maybe,” McCoy said. “But I don’t—”

“I’m not asking, anymore, McCoy,” Archer said. “You’ve dragged your feet long enough.”

“Children aren’t allowed on starships,” McCoy said.

“No, they aren’t,” Pike said. “Although a girl as fierce as yours might do well on one.”

“Not at six years old she damned well won’t, you—”

“You forget your place, Doctor,” Archer said, eyes narrowed. McCoy’s mouth snapped shut with a loud, painful click of his teeth. “Find somewhere for your daughter to go, and enlist yourself and Kirk in Starfleet.” He smirked. “That’s assuming you can get him to stick with you, of course. He may have shown some loyalty toward his family, but he’s a slut, plain and simple. You might have to tie him down to get him to stay in your bed, which I’m told isn’t too good a way to incite loyalty in others.”

“Force never is,” McCoy said through his teeth.

Archer’s sneer widened. “It’ll take you four years to get through the Academy, McCoy, and longer still before you’ll be in a place where loyalty—or a lack thereof—poses any threat to me.”

McCoy stood. “We’ll be out in three,” he said, and stormed out of the room.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

James was delivered to McCoy’s private bedchambers a week later, wrists bound at the small of his back, legs tucked under him gracefully.

McCoy took a moment to admire him from the doorway—the sleek contours of his muscles, the jagged white lines of new and poorly healed scars, the way his eyes flashed defiantly when he looked up at McCoy.

“You’re George Kirk’s boy?” he asked, and had to work to suppress the shiver James’ murderous expression sent down his spine.

“I’m James Tiberius Kirk,” James said, his body tensing as if he might jump up from his spot on the floor at any moment and rip McCoy’s throat out. McCoy almost wanted him to try just so he could see the look on the other man’s face when McCoy threw him to the floor and took him, hard and fast and angry.

McCoy cupped James’ chin with one hand, forcing it one way and then the other. His eyes flicked from the fresh bruising on James’ cheek to the nick in the top of his right ear, like an earring had been ripped out of it.

“Pock marked, but handsome,” he said, just to see the look such a comment would put in James’ eyes. He wished he could reach up and brush James’ unruly hair from his forehead without seeming weak or foolish. “We’ll have to get you a haircut, James.”

James pulled away, jaw tight. McCoy reached out and grabbed a fistful of hair. Forced James’ head back. Goose bumps broke out along his arms as he took note of the quickness of James’ breath, the slight thickening of his pupils, the way James still refused to avert his gaze.

“You understand what has happened, here, James?” he asked, and could have sworn James’ eyes were fixed on his lips for a moment. “Your brother pissed off the wrong people with his failure on Deneva, and your mother traded your future for the lives of his sons.”

That was what made James look away, but McCoy couldn’t quite figure out why. Shame? Betrayal, perhaps?

“And now the emperor has given you to me,” he said. He let go of James’ hair and traced his fingers along the other man’s jawline. He frowned when James kept his eyes on the floor, fingers stopping at James’ chin. “My late wife betrayed me, James, and now her skeleton is bleached white by the sun. But you’re no woman, and I have been assured you will be loyal.” He pushed lightly until James looked up, arching an eyebrow. “You won’t break my heart, will you?”

James let out an almost inaudible snort, sneering.

“Tell you what I’m going to do, darling. I’ll raise you up into the most feared name in the Empire. I’ve got no need to be in the spotlight, but to be the shadow behind it…that’s a position I have use for. All you have to do is swear I’ll always have your heart.”

James frowned, eyebrows furrowing. His eyelids fluttered for a moment when McCoy thumbed at his bottom lip.

“Just know that if I find you with someone else without my permission, I’ll cut it out of you,” McCoy said.

“Maybe I’d prefer to keep sleeping around without a damn collar, and take my own chances at rising to power,” James said. “I had a fine enough life fighting as a gladiator.”

McCoy shook his head. “That’s not the way the game works. If you don’t agree to me, the Emperor will just give you to someone else. And someone else might just use you ‘til you drop.” He put his face close to James’; close enough to seal their lips together if he wanted. His hand dropped to James’ shoulder, tracing the no doubt cramping muscles of his arm, the slight bump of the tracker in his arm that marked him as a slave. Finally, his fingers brushed against the rough material of the ropes stopping James from slitting his throat. Or trying to, at least. “I’ll only tie you down to my bed sometimes, promise.”

He couldn’t stop himself from shivering a bit when James’ tongue poked out, presumably to lick his own lips though it brushed against McCoy’s, too.

When he next spoke, his voice dropped to a volume just above a whisper. “I’ll even let you keep your own last name. You’ll be more formidable if no one realizes you’re under my thumb.”

Another flash of defiance. “Beside you. I want to be your equal.”

“My equal?” McCoy asked, chuckling. “Surely you aren’t that stupid.”

James’ eyes narrowed. “No such thing as a no-win situation, McCoy. I can be.”

“Prove it,” McCoy said.

James grinned, almost boyish in his glee but for the malicious glint in his eyes. His ropes fell away, and he pressed an old, rusty nail against McCoy’s cheek. Blood dripped from the tips of his fingers. “You should have this floor redone.”

McCoy chose not to comment on how James hadn’t pulled his face away in the slightest. Instead he murmured, “Clever boy” and closed the space between them. James’ lips were chapped, rough on one side from a busted lip that had scabbed over. The inside of his mouth was hot and wet and perfect. There was just enough of a copper tang to entice McCoy to explore until he found the sore spot on James’ cheek, worried raw.

He pulled away, gasping for air while James’ tongue tried to follow for a final lick of his lips. He brushed James’ hand away from his face. Heard the soft clatter of the nail as it hit the floor.

“My first name is Leonard,” he said, smiling at the confused look that crossed over James’ face. “The day I let you use it is the day you’ll have proven yourself my equal.”

James was already leaning forward as he nodded, saying something incomprehensible against McCoy’s lips as they pressed together into another kiss.

McCoy yanked on James’ arm, standing. James fell into him, legs no doubt asleep or at least sore. McCoy put his arms around James, grabbing his ass and lifting. James struggled, of course. Pushed back until McCoy was forced to drop him on the bed.

James wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licking the blood welling up from the reopened wound.

“Take off your clothes,” McCoy said, already stripping off his shirt. He took a step forward and hissed when his heel came down on the head of the nail.

James chuckled darkly, lifting and shimmying his hips to get his pants off. McCoy surged forward when James’ cock fell free, already hard and flushed.

“And I have to prove myself your equal?” James asked, gulping audibly when McCoy licked the head.

“You think you’re the one with the power, here?” McCoy asked, snorting. He wrapped his mouth around James but let his teeth scrape ever-so-softly against the skin of the head before pulling away with a soft pop.

James’ Adam’s apple bobbed up and down and he licked his lips again, blood smearing across his chin.

“Looks like you’ll pick up quick enough, darling,” McCoy said. He kissed the inside of James’ thigh before moving up. He rubbed his lips against the scar on James’ hip, liking the feel of the indented skin.

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” James said, gasping out the words as McCoy placed a knee between his legs. He rutted against it once before catching himself, going infuriatingly still.

“Oh?” McCoy asked, rubbing his knee against James’ groin as he moved even further up. “Is it supposed to be rougher?” He bit another scar, this one between James’ fifth and sixth ribs.

“I don’t…” James took a sharp breath as McCoy hooked an arm under his knee and pushed it up to his shoulder.

“You want me to just take you?” McCoy asked. “You’d like that, huh? I wouldn’t even have to take off my pants, just unzip them and fuck you so hard you’ll beg me to keep you tied down. Leave you with zipper marks, maybe some fingerprint bruises?”

“I don’t know.” James grit the words out, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s always been like that.”

“Don’t have to be,” McCoy said. “Didn’t reckon you’d be too keen to give me your heart if I didn’t woo you some. Go a little slow, take my time. Might even use lube if you ask real pretty.” He wondered if James would mind his accent coming out (‘ _perty_ ’) like Jocelyn had. The cant of Jim’s hips and quickening of his breath seemed to indicate the exact opposite.

“Okay,” James said, breathless, groaning when McCoy’s thumbs pressed hard on his nipples. “Do it.”

“Now even you know that ain’t begging,” McCoy said even as he reached down and undid the button of his pants.

“Slick me up for you,” James said.

“Try a little harder, sweetheart,” McCoy said. He laved at one of James’ nipples, then bit the area around it hard enough to break the skin

“Come on, McCoy, do it.” James huffed angrily.

“You’re getting there,” McCoy said, undoing the zipper and shoving his pants down. He chuckled when James reached down to help, his hands knocking McCoy’s away.

“I want…I want…”

McCoy hummed, goading the other man on.

“Please.” James drew the word out into a whine.

McCoy kissed him, their teeth clacking together painfully as James pushed up into him. He pulled away and licked the blood off his lips, reaching under his pillow for the bottle of lube he’d stowed there. He jolted when James grabbed his triceps, squeezing hard and flipping them over.

“God, you’re so damn easy,” James said, far too self-assured for a man naked and hard and straddling another man’s hips.

McCoy sighed, feeling strangely disappointed, and jabbed James’ neck before the other man could react. The hypo he’d hidden next to the lube hissed as it released its contents.

“What—” James couldn’t finish the question, slumping forward helplessly as the drug took effect.

“That was a mild tranquilizer,” McCoy said, scowling as he maneuvered James’ limp body off of his. “Should wear off in about an hour.” He rolled over, pushing himself up onto his knees and putting one hand on either side of James’ head so he could look into the other man’s furious blue eyes. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you, kid? Did you really think I didn’t expect and plan for this?”

Any further comment was interrupted by a knock on the door, an insistent tap too self-assured to be a servant.

“Daddy?” Joanna’s voice eked through the door, soft but not groggy in the least in spite of the late hour.

“Joanna?” He stood, padding over to the door and opening it, using his body (already soft from James’ betrayal) to shield her view of the bed.

“I heard noises,” she said.

“I have company,” he said.

“In your bedroom?” she asked, giving him a funny look.

He chuckled. “You’ll meet him tomorrow. What are you doing up so late?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Ginger tried to smother me in my sleep, so I used the hypo you gave me and came to find you,” she said.

“Alright,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Where is she?”

“On the floor in my room,” she said. “May I dissect her?”

“You aren’t old enough to dissect a human cadaver, Joanna,” he said with a sigh.

“It was a sedative, Daddy, she isn’t dead,” Joanna said. “I checked her pulse and everything. Please?”

“No means no, Joanna.” He nudged her toward the spare bedroom across the hall. “Go get settled while I tuck in my guest, and I’ll come sleep with you.”

She made a face at him, but nodded. “Alright, Daddy.”

He watched until she went to the other room, then turned and closed the door behind him, sighing again even as his heart began to race with worry. How was he going to find somewhere for Joanna to stay during his tour when he couldn’t even find a nanny who wouldn’t try to kill his beautiful baby girl after a few months?

A choked, gasping breath from the bed made him look at James, who was red in the face, throat visibly swollen.

He cursed under his breath—of course James was allergic to a common sedative. He went to his bathroom and grabbed the first-aid kit there, fishing around until he found an antihistamine.

He injected it none-too-gently, followed closely by a hypo-allergenic sedative because he wasn’t taking any chances with his daughter so close by. He watched as James began to breathe normally, the swelling already subsiding.

“You think about what we discussed, James,” McCoy said as he chained James’ foot to the bed with the restraints normally reserved for use during the training of unruly servant girls. “You can get out of that easily enough once the tranq has worn off, I’ll wager, so it’s your choice what happens after.” His face darkened when James’ gaze flickered toward the door. He grabbed hold of James’ hair hard enough to pull out a few strands, and forced their eyes to meet. “So help me, James Tiberius Kirk, if you harm so much as a single hair on my daughter’s head, you’ll wish I’d let you die of anaphylactic shock.”

James huffed but said nothing. Not that he could have even if he’d wanted to.

McCoy let his grip loosen. “The servants have instructions to give you free rein of the house, so long as you don’t try to stir up any trouble.” He arched an eyebrow at James. “Try not to kill anyone unless they try to kill you first, if you please. Hiring new servants is a pain in the ass.” He smirked. “And it’s not every day the Emperor gifts me with a slave.”

James’ nostrils flared.

McCoy let go, straightening James’ hair and sweeping unruly bangs from the man’s face almost tenderly. After a moment of hesitation, he pressed a soft kiss to James’ forehead.

“Goodnight, James,” he said, and went to the bathroom to take a quick, cold shower.

When he woke the next morning and crossed the hall to get dressed and ready for the day, James was gone.

He rubbed a hand over his face roughly, massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Pulled on his clothes and brushed his teeth, then crossed the hall to wake Joanna only to find she was already up and away.

Frustrated with himself for ever thinking there might be some other outcome, he left the room. He barked out orders to the first servant he saw, ordering the shaking girl to take Ginger to his study only to be told by a halting, frightened voice that she was gone.

He backhanded the girl so hard she tumbled into the wall, weeping piteously.

“Then send me whatever poor excuse for a guard didn’t secure her last night,” he said, lip curling at the sight of her. “And have someone look at your head. I’ll not have you shirking your duties because of an easily fixed concussion.”

She nodded, bowing somewhat lopsidedly, and scurried down the hall.

Flexing his stinging hand, he stormed the rest of the way down the steps to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway when he heard a deep, hushed voice, followed by the tinkling laughter of his daughter.

“Daddy,” Joanna said, barreling into his side with no further warning. She looked up at him with a wide smile—the kind that made his heart twist in his chest because she was so perfect, and didn’t it just break him to snap at her never to smile like that when anyone else could see. A surgical mask hung loose around her neck; the bloody gloves on her hands stained his pants. “Good morning. James is helping me cut up Ginger’s heart.”

“Is he, now?” he asked, peering into the room to see James leaning over the counter, watching the two of them with an infuriatingly blank expression. “Good morning, James.”

“McCoy.” James bowed his head a little, straightening. “I thought I’d clean up a bit, this morning.”

“I have servants for that,” McCoy said, scooping Joanna up.

“That isn’t what I meant by cleaning.” James shrugged nonchalantly though the line of his shoulders was tense. “Wandered around this morning and found some wench passed out on Miss Joanna’s floor.”

“James is very nice, Daddy,” Joanna said, beaming at James. “He said he saved the heart just for me.”

James nodded slowly in answer to McCoy’s upraised brow.

McCoy looked at the two of them for a moment, bemused by their strange, easy camaraderie.

“What are we having for breakfast?” Joanna asked, stuffing what was left of Ginger’s heart into a plastic baggy and throwing it in the garbage chute. She stripped off her gloves with a snap and threw them in after the heart.

“There’s only one thing to have, isn’t there?” McCoy asked. In answer to their curious looks, he said, “Pink, heart-shaped pancakes.”

Joanna giggled, nodding enthusiastically. “I want to help stir. Can I, Daddy?”

“Of course you can, sugar,” he said, patting her head. “Why don’t you show James where the flour, baking soda and food dyes are while I get everything else?”

“Okay,” she said, and grabbed James’ hand. “Come on, James.”

“Don’t we need chocolate chips?” James asked as she led him away. “Pancakes aren’t any good without chocolate chips.”

“Should be some in the pantry next to the dye,” McCoy called after them when Joanna gasped in delight at the suggestion. Her answering squeal made him smile to himself as he pulled out the milk and eggs.

When he went to retrieve a mixing bowl, he looked out of the window. A woman’s body hung from the wall, suspended on what looked like a meat hook and a length of chain. Her hair was a telltale shade of red, matted with blood though it was, and even from this distance he could see a gaping hole between her breasts.

As Joanna and James reentered the room, chatting amiably, he fought to hide a smile.

The pleased glint in James’ eyes when they looked at each other told him he wasn’t tremendously successful, but to his surprise he found he didn’t much care.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

McCoy didn’t fly often (not if he could possibly help it), but when he did it was on small charter shuttles with one, maybe two other passengers at most. As private as possible so he could commiserate with a flask of the finest bourbon without worrying about someone untoward finding out about his phobia.

The Starfleet shuttle to San Francisco was neither small nor private, filled with people who might be his colleagues or enemies (or both) in the future. Worst of all, Joanna and James were on board. Joanna had insisted on sitting between McCoy and James, but McCoy could still feel the other man’s eyes on him.

“Your knuckles are white, Daddy,” Joanna said softly, putting a hand over his on their shared armrest.

“Daddy doesn’t like flying,” he said out of the side of his mouth. With a deep breath, he unbuckled his belt and said, “Think I’ll go to the head.”

“No, you won’t,” a female lieutenant said, shoving him back down in his seat. “We’re about to take off. Sit down, strap in, and shut up.”

Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, he nodded. He tried to refasten his seatbelt quickly so no one would see the tremor in his hands, but the shuttle lurched as its engine started and he clutched at the armrests. Closing his eyes, he pressed his head back against the seat. He swallowed a mouthful of bile, not daring to peek his eyes open even when he heard the soft click of his seat belt buckling.

Joanna prized his hand away from the arm rest and curled it around herself, burying her face in his side.

“Hey, McCoy,” James said, nudging his arm. Tight-lipped, he looked over at James and was surprised to see a flask being offered to him. “Doesn’t smell like the high-end swill you like, but I nipped it off that lieutenant so it’s probably not bottom shelf, whatever it is.”

McCoy eyed him, and then swept his gaze over the other occupants of the shuttle to see where the lieutenant had gone. Catching sight of her flirting with Captain Pike at the other end of the shuttle, he curled his lip and took the flask, knocking back a good third of its contents in one go.

James leaned in close when McCoy handed the flask back. “Why’d you enlist us if you’re afraid of flying?” he asked, hissing the words out through his teeth.

“Ain’t,” he said. “Just don’t like it. Besides, I didn’t exactly enlist us by my own choice.”

James’ eyes immediately snapped to Pike, who was watching them none-too-subtly. “I see,” he said.

“You enlisted, before,” McCoy said, his voice accusing.

“It was either that or get stabbed in the back in some stupid bar fight,” James said. “And I had to pay to get in so late in the semester.”

“You paid or your mother did?” McCoy asked with a sneer.

“My mother never paid for a damn thing. Not for me.”

McCoy wasn’t surprised. According to rumor, Winona Kirk had gone crazy (crazier) after the infamous death of her husband. She remarried a scant year after he sacrificed himself for his crew (a foolish stunt, it was whispered, but one that still put his family in the Emperor’s favor) and abandoned her children to go to space on a man-hunt. She was still alive; still hunting for the ship that killed her first husband and mowing down anyone and everyone who got in her way with merciless efficiency.

If not for her eldest son’s screw up on Deneva, she would have been the most heralded captain in the Empire. As it was, she’d been shunted off to the menial missions; the kind that didn’t do anything but waste people’s time while seeming to be at least somewhat necessary.

Scuttlebutt claimed she preferred it that way—easy missions meant more time to devote to finding and destroying George Kirk’s killer.

But of course, all that time devoted to avenging a ghost meant she had very little time for anyone else, even the two sons who were all that was left of her husband.

“Oh?” McCoy asked.

James shook his head and leaned back in his seat. He took a long swig from the flask. “Besides, when I say ‘pay’ I’m not talking about credit chips.”

McCoy followed his gaze back to Pike, who was no longer looking at them. Lip curling, he said, “I see.”

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

“I don’t think I have the patience to ingratiate myself with these girls,” Joanna announced as she sat down at the counter separating the kitchenette to the living room of the tiny, Starfleet-issued, ‘family-sized’ suite.

“Oh?” McCoy asked, setting her after school snack in front of her.

“It was just your first day, Jo,” James said.

“Every time they spoke to me—and they only spoke to me a few times—I felt like they were spitting venom at me,” she said. “I want to cut open their necks and see if there are any poison glands.”

McCoy snorted. “I take it there are some non-human species in your class?”

“No,” she said. “Well, there’s a Tellarite, but he’s a boy.” Her face darkened. “They acted like _I’m_ non-human. Sub-human, even, just because I don’t talk like some damn yammering Yankee.” She wrinkled her nose. “Or a Californian.”

“Mhm,” McCoy said.

“You said I should make friends with the girls back home, but I’m liable to claw these girls’ eyes out before I even learn all their names,” she said. “I ain’t stupid just ‘cause a talk slow, Daddy. I know more than all those girls put together.”

“It’s not a bad thing to be underestimated, Joanna,” James said. “As a matter of fact, it’s often times quite an advantage.”

She frowned at him.

“You remember when James was a gladiator?” McCoy asked. “He wouldn’t wear most of the armor he won, and he pretended to be tired or injured.”

Slowly, eyebrows scrunching together as she tried to discern the meaning of his words, she nodded.

“The other gladiators let their guard down because they thought I would be an easy kill,” James said. “And when they made the mistake of getting too close…”

“You drove a sword into their hearts,” Joanna said with a small, malicious smile. It disappeared a moment later. “I don’t think I’m patient enough to wait that long.”

“It might not take as long as you think,” James said.

“But Daddy says I’m not allowed to kill people without supervision ‘til I’m twelve,” Joanna said, her voice settling into a petulant whine. “I can’t bring them all over at once, but they never even go to each other’s houses unless there’s a whole group of them. And he ain’t exactly incon…inky…well, everyone’s liable to see him in them bright red clothes y’all have to wear.”

“You bloodthirsty little harlot,” James said with a laugh, ignoring McCoy’s tight-lipped glare. “You don’t have to kill them, you know.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked.

“Because it is ever so much more fun to play with them,” James said, the smile on his face enough to send a shiver down McCoy’s spine. He wasn’t sure if the shiver stemmed from fear or arousal. Possibly both. “Once they’re dead it’s over and you can’t do anything else to them that’ll matter. While they’re alive, though…there’s blackmail, torture—you could even turn them against each other and watch them duke it out like a live cockfight.”

Joanna pursed her lips together, turning the idea over in her head. “Still don’t know if I’m patient enough for it,” she said.

“Just keep imagining the look on their faces when you show them one day that you’ve got them all by the throat,” James said. Seeing the expression on her face, he said, “the metaphorical throat.”

“What’s the difference between a meta…a meet…one of those throats and the normal kind?” she asked.

“A metaphor is when you use one thing to represent something else, so it’s easier to understand,” McCoy said. “Like when I told you James wasn’t just a one-trick pony—he’s not any sort of pony, obviously, but you understand that I mean he’s capable of doing more than just one thing.”

She hummed thoughtfully, and then looked at Jim. “What if I still can’t be patient?”

“As long as it’s something small,” Jim said with a mischievous smirk, “I don’t see why you couldn’t let yourself slip every once in a while. Besides, aren’t you southerners supposed to be masters of the backwards compliment?”

“And here we thought you’d never catch on,” McCoy said flippantly, patting James’ shoulder.

James’ mouth twitched. “Obviously you’ll have to be better at it than your father,” he said, winking at Joanna when she giggled.

“Girls are always better at stuff than boys, James,” she said, and giggled again as the two men laughed.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

James was sure he could get McCoy over his fear of flying. For some reason, he was convinced sex was the best way to do that (McCoy had the strangest feeling James was convinced sex was the best way to do everything).

McCoy was skeptical, not the least of which was because even after a year he still had the niggling feeling James was just waiting for a good opportunity to put a knife in his back. But Starfleet wouldn’t to let him put off his flight simulations for much longer, and they certainly weren’t going to allow him to drink his fears away.

Which was how he found himself tied spread eagle to the bed, with James crouched over him.

“Your problem is you’ve always got to be in charge, McCoy.” James stuffed a ball of cloth into McCoy’s mouth. He laughed when McCoy tried to spit it out, tying another strip of cloth around his head to stop him. Still smirking, he said, “but you’re a doctor, not a pilot, so you can’t exactly keep control over the shuttle. Much less whatever starship we’re assigned to for our five-year mission.”

McCoy glared up at him, the muscles in his arms flexing as he tested the knots binding him to the bed—secure, of course.

James placed yet another cloth over his eyes, lips so close to McCoy’s ear he could feel James’ breath ghosting across the cartilage. In spite of himself, McCoy let out a soft groan when James’ tongue traced the shell of his ear.

“Have you ever been operated on, Doc?” James asked. He chuckled again, low and dangerous, when McCoy’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll bet you never trusted anyone enough to let them near you with a hypo, huh? Not if you could help it.”

 _Of course not,_ McCoy thought. _Most doctors are idiots._

“I stole one of those old-fashioned scalpel sets you like to collect,” James said. McCoy’s head swiveled toward the sound of a little metal snap being undone, heart racing in his chest. “I don’t think you’ve ever used these, before, but I went ahead and sanitized them.”

McCoy gasped, forcing himself not to flinch when the cold tip of a scalpel brushed ever-so-lightly against his Adam’s apple.

“You’re going to trust me not to kill you,” James said. He dragged the blade of the scalpel across a spot near the top of McCoy’s pectoralis major, tongue following to lap up the blood as it welled up from the broken skin. “Just like you’ll trust me not to kill you when we fly tomorrow.”

It went on like that for what seemed like hours—the sharp slice of the scalpel, the warm touch of James’ mouth and tongue, the precarious, unbearable balance of pain and pleasure. McCoy wondered what sort of a picture he painted, with more cut skin than not, a red-blooded carving in the most literal sense.

He was shuddering by the time James finally worked his way back up. He could do nothing but moan as the gag was removed, his jaw so sore he might as well have been sucking James off the entire time. A ragged whine escaped him as the scalpel cut a shallow line in his bottom lip. He tilted his head up, anticipating what would come next.

James didn’t disappoint, mouth closing over McCoy’s, teeth worrying the new wound even as his tongue laved at it almost lovingly. One of his hands cradled McCoy’s head, the other holding James up, the scalpel in his hand ripping into the sheets and staining them with blood.

McCoy groaned as the taste of his own blood exploded in his mouth, arching up into James body as much as he could.

“I’ll pilot the shuttle, tomorrow,” James said. The scalpel clattered loudly as it hit the floor next to the bed. McCoy’s head fell back, turning toward the sound of a drawer opening. “So long as I’m in the pilot’s seat, you won’t be scared, will you? You know I won’t let you crash, don’t you, McCoy?”

McCoy frowned, but couldn’t hold the expression for long as it pulled on his split lip. He scowled at the squelching sound that broke the silence, but the cold, slick finger he expected at his hole never came.

“James?” he said hesitantly. He could feel movement above him, but couldn’t tell from the sound what it was. His eyebrows rose as he felt drops of lube splatter down on his groin, lukewarm against his burning skin.

James chuckled breathlessly. “I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

“What part of my letting you cut me to ribbons makes you think I don’t trust you?” McCoy asked, biting his lip and squirming minutely to keep the pain going, to try and hold onto the feeling of James’ tongue on his skin.

“I know you don’t like to bottom,” James said. A hand fell onto McCoy’s chest, thumb pressed insistently against McCoy’s arousal-hardened nipple. “You’re not one of those men who can come just from a little prostate stimulation, or the burn of a fat cock in your ass.”

McCoy choked on a cry as James sank down onto him in one smooth motion, mouth hanging open in a silent ‘o’.

“Now I’m going to tell you a secret, McCoy,” James said, grunting softly as he lifted himself up and impaled himself again.

“Yeah?” McCoy sputtered, struggling against the soft ties around his wrists, needing to touch James, to run his fingers through the other man’s hair.

James leaned over, dragging a hand through McCoy’s blood and smearing it across his chest. “Pretty sure you turned me into one of those men.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I never let anyone fuck me, before you.” McCoy began to thrust up into him as much as he was able to with the restraints holding him down. James reared up with a moan. “I’ve spent most of my adult life fucking somebody or other, and now I can’t come without thinking of you inside me. God, you feel so damn good, you sick bastard.”

McCoy shook his head in a mindless attempt to remove the blindfold so he could see the look he knew was on James’ face.

“Next time Gaila comes over, I want you fucking me into her,” James said, hands trailing up McCoy’s arms. “So hard we don’t have to do anything but lay back and let you fuck us both wide open, ‘til there’s as much blood as lube slicking the way.”

“James,” he said, and let out a triumphant, relieved shout when James undid the ties with a flick of his wrists. He unfastened the restraints on McCoy’s ankles with his toes, and let out a bark of laughter when McCoy immediately flipped them over. McCoy reached up to remove the blindfold, but James got to it first, tossing the cloth carelessly away from the bed. McCoy pulled out with a hiss, slapping James’ thigh in a wordless command.

“Told you, you like to be in control,” James said even as he rolled over onto his knees. McCoy pushed his legs apart before pressing back into him, so James’ balls nearly dragged across the sheets with every hard thrust.

McCoy put his hands on James’ thighs, grip tight enough to leave tantalizing little bruises. “Tell me what to do, then, James,” he said with a violent snap of his hips.

“Just keep doing that,” James said, turning his head. “And, fuck, kiss me.”

McCoy did, tongue shoving into James’ mouth in time with the movement of his hips. When they parted, James’ tongue flicked out to catch the mixture of blood and spit on his mouth.

“Now come in me,” James said, half-lidded eyes on McCoy. “I want to be dripping with it when you’re done, McCoy.”

“Fuck,” McCoy said, and came.

(YOUWOULDFINDMEAFORMIDABLEPAGEBREAK)

James flew the shuttle the next day, and McCoy rode beside him, pale but unwavering.


	3. Chapter 3

During their third and final year, James began coming back to their apartment with more bruises than was usual.

McCoy was certain James thought himself clever, but the bruises were too carefully placed; too flawlessly normal.

Briefly, he entertained the notion that James, like Jocelyn before him, was cheating. McCoy wasn’t sure why he would be—plenty of men and women paraded through their bedroom. He wasn’t growing bored of sharing McCoy’s bed, McCoy was sure.

Surely with so many people warming their bed at night James wouldn’t risk everything they’d built for someone McCoy hadn’t—or wouldn’t—approve of.

“Have you considered where we’ll be posted?” he asked as he thrust into James one night, focusing on James’ face so he wouldn’t glare at the newest bruise on the man’s hip.

“I’ve had some ideas,” James said, not quite meeting McCoy’s eyes.

“Did you discuss it with Pike, today, during your little visit?” he asked, and was rewarded with an almost imperceptible gasp.

“No,” James lied.

“What about the Yorktown?” McCoy asked. “It’s a fine old ship.”

“It is,” James said.

“Or,” McCoy smirked, “they did rebuild the Kelvin a few years back. You want to really follow in your father’s footsteps?”

James growled, bucking his hips in an attempt to throw McCoy off, but McCoy just laughed and rode the movement smoothly. He groaned as James tightened the channel enveloping his dick, fingers digging even newer bruises overtop of the ones he was certain Pike had left.

“We deserve the best,” James said, gritting the words out through his teeth.

“And you’ll see we get it all by yourself?” McCoy asked with a ruthless snap of his hips.

“You think I want you anywhere near him?” James asked. “You might believe yourself out of his reach, McCoy, but you aren’t untouchable. If you open yourself up he’ll worm his way in until—”

“Until I’m his little whore just like you are?” McCoy asked, fingers digging into James’ scalp and forcing their eyes to meet. “I might allow you to be free with your affections, but remember: I’m the one who allows it.” He curled his fingers, tugging hard as he drove his point home. “You’re mine, James, and I don’t appreciate people trying to steal my things.”

He struck James’ thigh with a resounding smack when James tried to look away again. “Or are you trying to get away from me? You think to escape to that nice, shiny new ship with its handsome, conniving captain? Because I'll tell you, James, that’d hurt my feelings an awful lot.”

“The deal is for both of us to go,” James said. “Why do you think I go so often?”

McCoy’s face darkened, hackles raising. “How often do you go to him, James?”

James’ mouth snapped shut.

“How often?” McCoy asked, digging his nails into James’ skin. Snarled. “Tell me.”

“Twice a week for four months, now,” James said, arching up into McCoy with a strangled gasp as he struck his prostate. “Three times, some weeks.”

Though he tried, McCoy couldn’t keep the rhythm of their hips steady, the heat of his impending orgasm already spreading through his stomach.

“And how often will you see him when we’re on the _Enterprise_?” McCoy asked. “Will you let him turn you into the captain’s woman? Stay in his rooms for him to use as he will?”

“Would you like that?” James asked with that seductive purr of his.

As usual, it did little but piss McCoy off.

“No, I damned well wouldn’t,” McCoy said. “How many more times do I have to tell you you’re mine before it gets through that thick skull of yours?”

“You share me out often enough,” James said, hands flying up to clutch at McCoy’s biceps, hips gyrating helplessly as his cock struggled to find any sort of friction between their sweat-slick bodies.

“Thought you didn’t want me to tie you to my bed?” McCoy asked, though he had done just that more than once.

“I didn’t, three years ago.” James gave into temptation and reached down to palm his aching cock. “But now I have to—have to—”

“Yeah?” he asked, breathless, biting his lip hard so he wouldn’t come to the feeling of James spurting hot and wet across his stomach.

“We deserve the _Enterprise_ ,” James said hoarsely. “You…you deserve it.”

“If we deserve it, we can get it without fucking for Pike’s favor,” McCoy said, slowing his movements. He let his eyelids droop, his head falling onto James’ shoulder. “Jesus wept, I’m so close.”

“He won’t like my suddenly backing out,” James said, kissing the closest part of McCoy he could reach (his shoulder).

“I’ve been saving up favors from his CMO, Puri,” McCoy said, turning his head so their lips could find each other.

“That’s all well and good for you,” James said with a sneer.

McCoy let out a laugh that turned into a breathless groan. “Just trust me, darling, won’t you?”

“Okay.” James curled his arms around McCoy, nails scratching sharp red lines into his back. “Okay, McCoy. I trust you.”

McCoy shuddered and came with a short shout, biting down on James’ neck to stifle the sound. James caught him when his arms gave out, carefully untangling their lower halves.

“I’m taking the test again,” he said.

“The Kobayashi Maru?” McCoy asked with a scowl. “James, no one takes the test twice, much less three times—”

“That’s why I went to see Pike, today,” James said.

“So you could retake an impossible test?” McCoy asked, propping himself up on one shoulder so he could look down at James disapprovingly.

“Not impossible,” James said. “I’m going to beat it, this time.”

“Just like you were the last time and the time before, I take it.” McCoy snorted.

James huffed and rolled away, crossing his arms. “I have a real plan, now, and it’s going to work.” A pause. “And I want you there, you irascible old fart.”

McCoy stared at the stiff, tense lines of James’ shoulders. With another snort, he moved closer, snaking his arm around his lover.

“As if I’d leave you alone,” he said, and, when James relaxed in his arms with a sigh, wondered what that warm feeling in his chest was.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

The woman James had mentioned, Gaila, was an Orion defector. A former slave who purportedly fucked an overseer into a false sense of security, cut his prick off, and left him to bleed to death while she commandeered the ship to Federation space.

When he looked up from his work to watch her writhe on top of James, McCoy could see why the overseer might have been too distracted to notice the dagger near his genitals.

Gaila—the name she chose for herself when the Federation gave her asylum—was uttering indecent little gasps as James drove his hips up to meet hers.

McCoy, hands gripping tightly to the PADD he was working on, felt his breath stutter in his throat when James let out a loud moan.

“You two can’t keep your mating calls to a minimum? I’m trying to study, dammit.” His voice was hoarse, mouth stumbling over the words and making him sound more horny than angry. Which, in all fairness, wasn’t far from the truth.

“You could study anatomy with us,” Gaila said. “Did you know Orion females can alter the chemical balance of their pheromones so they’ll affect males of any species they come in contact with?”

“I doubt that’s the sort of information that’ll come up in a starship’s medical bay.” He bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to distract himself from the feeling of his dick struggling to escape the confines of his too-tight uniform pants. Wondered if it was pheromones making him so hard or the almost pained expression on James’ face.

“Never know what you’ll have to do in the name of diplomacy, McCoy,” James said, and then laughed throatily. “Or who.”

McCoy turned to say something acidic, but the words shriveled and died on his tongue. Gaila’s lips quirked up at the corners as she glanced at him, rolling her hips down to meet James’. Bruises were already blossoming across her skin, some bleeding sluggishly, the bright red a striking contrast to her emerald skin. From where he sat, he could see the point where their bodies met, the way James’ dick glistened when they parted before disappearing between her thighs again.

“Walk me through the elasticity of the Orion body,” he said, standing. She gave him a confused look, skewed somewhat by a (no doubt planned) hard upward thrust of James’ hips.

“He wants to know if we can fuck you at the same time without breaking you too much,” James said, fingers pressing new bruises into the skin of her hips.

She eyed him. “Are you hung like a…which animal is it you humans use in this colloquialism? A pony?”

“A horse, darling,” McCoy said with a chuckle, peeling off his uniform jacket and letting it crumple to the floor.

“He’s a little longer than me,” James said. Smirked and added, “thinner, though.”

“Then he just might fit,” she said. “With a little prep, if no one minds.”

“He’d better fucking hurry,” James said, shuddering.

McCoy made short work of the rest of his uniform, hardly managing to trip out of his underwear before he knelt onto the bed behind Gaila.

“You ever had sex with a surgeon, before?” he asked, pressing the length of his body along hers, one hand wrapping around to grip a breast while the other pushed two tentative fingers in alongside James.

“Mm,” she said, though it was unclear if she’d said it in answer to the question or in response to McCoy’s fingers finding her clit.

“We have tactile fingers and a working knowledge of where to put them,” McCoy said. “Reckon you should come now, darling. Ease our way a bit.” He punctuated his remark with a twist of his fingers, James thrusting up hard at the same time as if McCoy had commanded it.

Gaila came with a shout, her hands fluttering in the air uselessly for a moment before reaching back and grabbing hold of McCoy’s hair. McCoy withdrew his fingers as her body clamped down, wrapping them instead around the base of James’ cock.

“Don’t you dare come,” he said, squeezing in response to James’ defiant snarl. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

James glared at him, teeth gritting together, hands balled up so tightly his nails drew blood. Gaila began to tremble as she came down from her orgasm. McCoy lifted her up. He shoved in roughly, eyes rolling back in his head at the feeling of her around him and James rubbing up against him.

He didn’t wait for her to adjust, pulling out and thrusting back in, setting up a rhythm with James. It was shaky at first while James fought to stave off his orgasm, but he must have found something that worked because soon they were moving in tandem. Gaila slumped forward, hands splayed on James’ chest. James leaned up, kissing her neck, one hand at the small of her back forcing her to arch into him, her breasts squeezed between them.

“You two must do this a lot,” she said, breathless. “You move so well together.”

“He usually just watches,” James said, too-blue eyes meeting McCoy’s over Gaila’s shoulder. “Can’t blame him for not being able to keep his hands to himself, this time.”

“Usually your conquests are far too boring to bother with,” McCoy said. “You just fuck them to get your rocks off. Miss Gaila’s been here twice, already. Figured I’d see why you’re so fond of her.”

“And?” Gaila asked with a light, huffed out laugh that turned into a whimper.

“Well I don’t know,” McCoy said, grunting. “We’re all still talking, so it must not be too good after all.”

James made a face. Shoved McCoy’s shoulders so hard he fell back. Flipped himself and Gaila over knees spread wide, ass presented.

Looked over his shoulder at McCoy and said, “you going to fuck me into her, or not?”

“Oh, you’ve talked about this before,” Gaila said, sounding pleased. Let out a loud moan at James’ pained cry as McCoy pushed into him; pushed him into her.

“She makes the sweetest sounds during a hard fuck,” James said through gritted teeth.

McCoy gripped hard at James’ hips, forcing them back into his and forward into hers. And she did make the sweetest sounds—high-pitched whines and purring moans and soft gasps.

“Come on, come on, I need to…need to…”

“You can come, now,” he said, watching through narrowed eyes as James’ head fell forward onto Gaila’s bosom. James’s entire body jerked as he came, a strangled sound falling from his lips. McCoy tangled a hand in James’ hair and pulled back as if on the reins of a horse, mouthing at his jaw.

Almost in one movement he withdrew, helped James collapse to one side, and thrust into Gaila. He hiked one of her legs over his shoulder, losing all sense of rhythm. Half-lidded eyes meeting James’, he hunched over and kissed her.

Gaila moaned and wrapped her arms around McCoy’s neck. He bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and thrust hard into her, shuddering when her body began to constrict around him. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the pain just sharp enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

When he drifted back down he found himself on his back, head pillowed on Gaila’s breast as James wiped them both off with a damp cloth.

“What’s the verdict, McCoy?” James asked with that smirk he got when he was particularly pleased with himself.

McCoy arched an eyebrow at James, then up at Gaila, who smiled saccharinely down at him. He snorted and forced himself up and out of bed. He pulled on his boxers, very aware of their eyes tracking his every movement like a pair of jungle cats on the prowl.

“She’s acceptable,” he said, and sat back down at his desk. “Now both of you fuck off so I can get some actual studying done.”

“So even sex doesn’t mellow him,” Gaila said, tilting her head to one side. “Interesting.”

“We’ll have to try harder, next time.”

“I did all the work—any effort on your part would be trying harder,” McCoy said.

“Keep that up and I’ll have to reconsider who here has a vagina,” James said with a roll of his eyes. Made a shooing motion at Gaila. “I sent you a comm, but it’s kind of time sensitive. Tomorrow at three?”

She wrinkled her nose but left the bed, pulling on errant bits of clothing as she found them—her lacy pink panties, James’ uniform pants, McCoy’s nightshirt.

“I’m off this coming Friday,” McCoy said as disinterestedly as he could manage, wondering if they could see the way he’d been looking at the same lines on the screen for the entirety of the time Gaila was getting dressed. “Might be up for some more studying.”

“Study, my ass,” James said.

Gaila giggled as she palmed open the door. “Isn’t that the idea?”

“Tomorrow at three?” McCoy asked after the door shut behind her. “Isn’t that when you’re retaking the Kobayashi Maru?”

“Yes,” James said. “Yes it is.”

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

“You probably won’t be executed,” McCoy said. He squinted as another shuttle took off, the air it gave off blowing his meticulously coiffed hair askew. “Or expelled. The Agony Booth for sure, though.”

“And I’m grounded,” James said with a ferocious snarl. “They need every man they can get, and I’m stuck here because of some farce of a test—”

“—which you cheated on,” McCoy finished for him.

“I beat it,” James said insistently. “That fucking bowl-cut asshole just couldn’t stand that someone beat his stupid damned test.”

McCoy opened his mouth to say something else. Stopped short at the sound of another loud blare of the emergency siren cutting through the air. His hand reached up almost of its own accord, but he stopped it before it touched James’ arm. Such a gesture would be unappreciated by James and noted by anyone close enough to see.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Of course you do,” James spat.

Face darkening, McCoy grabbed a handful of James’ hair. “I’ll forgive you just this once, because I know you’re upset at the moment and obviously not thinking clearly,” he said into James’ ear, too soft to be overheard by any curious passers-by. “But speak to me like that again, boy, and you’ll beg for the Booth.”

James curled his lip up, but held his silence.

McCoy released him roughly and straightened his tunic. “I’ll see you if I get back.”

“When you get back,” James said, no longer looking at him. “I’ll be waiting, McCoy.”

McCoy sneered as he turned away. Took a few fast, angry steps before the sound of a supply trolley being overturned caused him to stop and look back.

James shook his hand. Spat on the metal cases strewn at his feet.

McCoy let out an angry sigh.  His steps were faster going back; hand forceful as it gripped James’ arm at the elbow. His other hand batted away James’ automatic reaction to punch unexpected surprises.

“Come with me,” he said, shoving the other man ahead of him into an out-of-the-way corner.

“What are you doing?” James asked, turning around just as McCoy drew the dagger he kept on his hip.

“My property rides with me,” McCoy said, and thrust the knife into James’ side, catching him as he fell forward.

“This is riding with you?” James asked, making a strange, gargling noise as he watched blood gush out around the hand he had pressed to the wound.

“You can thank me later,” McCoy said, and dragged him back to the shuttle going to the _Enterprise_.

“He’s on suspension,” the guard said with a disapproving frown at James.

“He’s wounded, and I’m his primary physician,” McCoy said. “But maybe you’d like to tell Captain Pike why he took off for a battle without one of his best doctors?” He leaned forward, dropping his voice into a feral whisper. “Or we could settle this at your next physical, Lieutenant Mabry?”

The Lieutenant’s face went starkly white and he shook his head, seeming unable to actually say anything as he stepped aside.

“I don’t feel so good,” James said as McCoy pushed him into a seat.

“The dagger was poisoned,” McCoy said, rolling his eyes when James let out a startled cry. “I have an antidote, obviously, you damned fool. It takes hours to kill you, anyhow.” He frowned. “Try not to scream when your nerves start burning; won’t do for anyone untoward to notice you boarding the ship.”

James made a hoarse gargling noise. He looked out of the window and blinked hard, certain that what he was seeing was some sort of drug-induced vision.

“That’s the ISS _Enterprise_ ,” McCoy said with a low, impressed whistle. “Ye gods.”

“Yeah,” James said.

McCoy looked at him. Though the view of the _Enterprise_ was spectacular—breathtaking, in fact—the expression of pure want on James’ face was enough to make McCoy’s heart stutter in his chest.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

“You idiot, of course you’re allergic to the antidote,” McCoy said under his breath as he sprinted after James through the long corridors of the _Enterprise_. “Of _course_. Dammit.”

And of course the damned fool couldn’t sit still long enough for McCoy to find the right hypo to get that unseemly swelling to go down.

“I shouldn’t even be out of Sickbay,” he said as James paused in a doorway long enough for him to jab a hypo into his neck.

“Stop that,” James said, snapped, the audacious little shit.

“Hell, I shouldn’t have brought you along to begin with. Damn you and your damn pathetic puppy eyes,” McCoy said, to himself since James had taken off again.

The next stop, the next hypo delivered, was in Linguistics, where James insisted on talking to a cadet named Nyota Uhura. McCoy vaguely recognized her as one of the other participants in James’ ill-fated run on the Kobayashi Maru, and wished she would slap the stubborn fool like she so obviously wanted to.

Instead, she ended up following him to the Bridge (McCoy followed, too, of course, although he’d finally managed to stave off the allergy attack) and helping him convince Captain Pike they were flying straight into a trap.

And they were. Of course they were, because James had an infuriating habit of being right all the time, and the more dire the circumstances the more right he tended to be.

“Dammit, James,” McCoy said as the ship broke out of warp into the middle of what should have been a battle but was actually a massacre.

 _God help us all_ , he thought as the heavily tattooed face of a very angry Romulan appeared onscreen, though he’d long since stopped believing in any sort of deity. He wondered if this is what James’ father had felt like so many years ago, when he sacrificed himself to save his wife and newborn son.

“Sounds like you’re more interested in talking to Spock than me,” Pike said after they’d listened to a few minutes of histrionic rambling. “Why don’t I send him over instead?”

“Because if anyone other than you shows up in that shuttle, I’ll blow your entire ship to whatever hell your Empire believes in,” Nero said. “You have ten minutes and then I blow you up anyway.”

And the screen went blank.

“Looks like I’m following in your father’s footsteps, Kirk,” Pike said, spitting out the words.

“My father actually saved his crew.” James spat right back at him. “Chances are we’ll still be killed.”

Pike’s lip curled up into a snarl, but whatever scathing retort he might have made was lost as the Navigator (some wunderkind whose balls hadn’t even dropped yet; fuck, Pike hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Joanna could have made a place on a starship) spoke up.

“Captain,” the kid said with some ridiculous accent that made McCoy want to slap him and smother him in turns, “the Romulan ship seems to be drilling into Vulcan.”

“To what end?” Pike asked, tearing his eyes away from James with some obvious difficulty.

“I’m not sure,” the kid said. “Whatever their plan, the Vulcans have no way of stopping them.”

“You say that as if we do,” McCoy said with a frown. “If we attempt to disarm that drill, they’ll shoot us right out of the air.”

“We can take it out manually,” Pike said, his glare enough to silence even McCoy’s protests. “Sulu, you have training in close-quarters combat, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” said the pilot.

“Good. You, Kirk, and Olson are going to jump from the shuttle to the drill while I’m en route to the Romulan ship.”

“James just had a severe allergic reaction, he’s in no condition—” McCoy said.

“He’s not even supposed to be here, McCoy,” Pike said with a hard voice that brooked no room for argument. “It’s either he does this or he can make it up to me personally, after all this is over.”

McCoy’s jaw clenched angrily. Where in the hell was James’ ‘no such thing as a no-win situation’ philosophy, now?

“That’s what I thought,” Pike said. “Spock, you can walk us down to the shuttle.”

“This is not a logical course of action, Captain,” Spock said as the condemned men left the Bridge.

“Dammit, James,” McCoy said and then said it once more for good measure. He slammed a fist into the nearest hard surface.

And if that surface happened to be a cadet without the good sense to back away from an obviously enraged superior officer, more the better.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

James had an annoying knack for pissing people off at exactly the wrong time, so it came as no surprise to McCoy when he ended up getting himself kicked off the ship.

At first McCoy was too torn between the shock of watching Vulcan disappear and thinking maybe James deserved what he was getting to step up in the defense of his lover. Seeing the escape pod zip toward the nearest M Class was enough to bring him back to the present.

“Dr. McCoy, if I may,” Spock said, inclining his head just so. McCoy’s mouth was already twisting into a deep scowl as followed the other man— _half_ -man—away from the center of the Bridge. “I understand you and Cadet Kirk are…close.”

“That’s a word for it,” McCoy said, hackles rising as he readied himself for whatever reprimand or punishment Spock was thinking up.

“I merely wished to extend my gratitude for your taking my side when your human instincts would obviously incline you to take the side of your partner,” Spock said.

“Taking your—” McCoy cut himself off with an enraged snort. “Permission to speak freely? Sir?”

“Of course,” Spock said.

“Alright.” McCoy laughed mirthlessly, voice dropping into an angry hiss so no one could hear his next words. “You listen here, _sir_ : you might have been following protocols, and James might have been asking for it, but kicking him off this ship was a fool thing to do. And I may very well have stood aside and let you give him his just desserts, but don’t you for one minute make the mistake of thinking I’ll ever be on your side.”

“Doctor,” Spock said.

“We’ve got a saying, back home, _Acting_ Captain,” McCoy said, ruthlessly cutting Spock off. “If you’re going to ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don’t leave your prized stallion in the stable.”

Spock’s mouth twitched, and McCoy wondered if he might actually be suppressing a smile. “A curious metaphor, Doctor, as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential.”

“I’m well aware of how to break a man—I’ve damn near made my career off it. But breaking him won’t do any good if there’s no one around to see him reach his potential. Or benefit from it.”

“Nevertheless, it was the logical choice,” Spock said. “Kirk will survive on that planet regardless of our fates.” A quirk of his eyebrow. “I presume you find that satisfactory, Doctor?”

McCoy made a disgusted noise, barely resisting the sudden urge to reach forward and try his hand at a Vulcan Nerve Pinch. With any luck, he’d botch it and ‘accidentally’ kill Spock.

“Captain Spock,” someone said.

Spock nodded at him. “Doctor.”

McCoy bemoaned the empty hypo in his pocket for a brief moment as he watched Spock walk away. Then, turning toward the turbolift, he resolved to retreat to the familiar chaos of sickbay until such time as providence saw fit to bring Spock into his loving care.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

Providence didn’t bring him Spock; it brought him someone better.

Coldly, he surveyed the broken body of the once proud and mighty Captain Pike, spread out on the biobed like an ancient sacrifice.

“I’d have preferred a burnt offering,” McCoy mused under his breath. “But this will do quite nicely.”

“Doctor?” Nurse Chapel asked, her eyes meeting his from across the bed.

“Nothing,” he said. “The laser scalpel, if you please.”

If only there hadn’t been such a rush to get to Vulcan, he might have had the foresight to bring along some of his personal tools. The scalpel he had used on Jocelyn, perhaps, or a hypo that kept its victim awake and aware, but immobilized.

He would make do, though. Besides, his hatred for Pike would have been all too obvious if he had his own tools on hand.

It took two hours to extricate the slug. He couldn’t help but admire it as he dropped it into the miniature stasis chamber Chapel held up for him.

It was disgusting. Deceptively small, slimy, with harsh edges and sinister little pincers that made him tremble with something akin to sympathy toward Pike. He was already looking forward to tearing it apart, developing new drugs from its venom, but now was hardly the time.

“We’ll have to extract as much of the poison as possible,” he said as he tore his attention away from the slug. He squinted at the base of Pike’s spine, assessing the damage, and hoped Chapel couldn’t see the glint in his eyes. Or, at the very least, that she would attribute it to the shitty lighting.

“Syringe?” she asked, voice carefully devoid of emotion. She was already passing a syringe to him as he nodded and held out a hand. “Interesting thing about Command Track, sir…”

“Hm?” He didn’t glance away from his work, though he dearly wanted to. All it took was one ‘slip’ of his hand…

“They don’t seem to have figured out that, regardless of their title, they have no power within the sick bay doors,” she said. With only that rather ambiguous phrase, she turned away from the operating table and began fiddling with some of the instruments at the side of the room.

He looked up at her, then, eyebrows reaching up toward the sky when she pointedly drew her hair to one side. On her neck, peeking out from her collar, was a thick, ugly red scar.

“Interesting,” he said, looking back down at Pike’s spine. He picked up the laser scalpel. “It’s too bad, really.”

Chapel kept her back facing him, but cocked her head to one side.

“Looks like we didn’t get to him in time to save his legs,” McCoy said.

“Tragic,” Chapel said, and smiled minutely at him when she turned back around.

He nodded at her before turning his attention to resealing the wound. Noting her self-satisfied smile, he resigned himself to the possibility that Chapel was setting him up for a very hard, very fatal fall.

Even with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, he mostly felt gratified with the knowledge that James was forever safe from Pike’s lower half.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

McCoy hadn’t really expected Joanna to be _angry_ when the _Enterprise_ finally made its rather clumsy return to Earth.

His weary exit from the shuttle was met with a flurry of little fists beating against his stomach, accompanied by the outraged screams of his daughter.

“You almost died,” she said, her shouts drawing the attention of the other heroes of the Empire. He grabbed her wrists, resisting the startlingly intense urge to pull her into a hug. “You aren’t allowed to die, Daddy, not until I say. I’m the only person allowed to kill you.” She paused, looking over his shoulder at something. Sniffling, she said, “me or James.”

He looked back, saw James staring at them indifferently, and turned back to his daughter with a frown.

“You can’t ever do that again,” she said miserably. Then, her face crumpling, she yanked her arms out of his grip and threw them around his waist. Trembling in his arms, she began to cry in earnest.

He put his arms around her, bowing his head so his face was hidden in her hair. “Hush, baby, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

A hand touched his shoulder. For a split second he thought it was James, but then with a jerk he was pulled away from Joanna.

“Dr. McCoy, come with us, please,” said a man in a red tunic, an Agonizer already pressed into McCoy’s side in warning. McCoy looked down, eyes meeting Joanna’s, and shook his head to stave off the protest he could see forming on her lips.

Several more men were standing nearby, phasers drawn, one of their number stepping forward to apprehend James when he stepped forward.

The first one—the one warily patting McCoy down—looked over at James and said, “they want him, too.”

McCoy felt like he should speak up; take the blame for James disobeying orders and boarding _Enterprise_.

Before he could so much as draw a breath, he wondered why he would ever even consider taking the fall for someone else. Even James.

Jaw clenched, brows furrowed, he allowed the officers to lead him away.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

The Agony Booth more than deserved its name—in truth, ‘agony’ probably wasn’t a strong enough word for it. Some people described it as a sort of exaggerated pins and needles effect, only with white-hot pins and a few more needles than were strictly necessary.

McCoy always imagined a person standing in the Booth with him, slicing him open and rooting out a cluster of nerves, pinching each nerve ending as it was drawn from beneath his skin. Then, before his body acclimated to the pain or even realized the pinching had stopped, the person moved on to the next cluster. The resulting ache lasted for days, leaving him weak and drained.

(Unsurprisingly, it was after a stint in the Agony Booth that most murders occurred.)

The worst of it was the amount of time a body generally spent in the Booth—even McCoy’s mildest stints had lasted at least four hours. Anything less was hardly worth mentioning; the ache was gone in no time at all.

And yet, after a mere hour in the Booth, the doors opened and McCoy was released.

McCoy frowned at Admiral Komack, who stood behind the Medical personnel standing at the foot of the Booth. (Supposedly, they were there to support the person leaving the Booth. As someone who had once stood there, himself, McCoy knew they were actually there to decide whether a person could take a little more punishment—the brass was always looking to test the limits of a person’s endurance.)

Komack eyed him, lip curling. “I don’t like it, either, McCoy. Your little stunt may have saved the Empire, but insubordination is insubordination. If I had my way—”

“But you don’t,” Admiral Barnett said. “The Emperor’s orders are clear: a little time in the Booth so no one goes getting any untoward ideas, and then an accelerated graduation and leave while the _Enterprise_ undergoes repairs.”

Komack snorted, but said nothing.

“Pardon me, sir,” McCoy said weakly, taking a shaky step out of the Booth. “Did you say leave? And repairs?”

Barnett nodded. “The field promotions are to hold.”

McCoy coughed, leaning back against the Booth a little and hoping no one noticed.

“What is it, McCoy?” Komack asked, glaring.

“The field promotion can’t hold in Ja—Kirk’s case, sir,” McCoy said, allowed himself a smirk at the expression on Komack’s face when he said, “Slaves can’t be promoted.”

“Kirk is still a slave?” Komack demanded, eyes wide and slightly manic. McCoy thought he even looked somewhat gleeful.

“I was going to free him eventually,” McCoy said. “Preferably before it became an issue.” His mouth twitched with a barely repressed smile. “I wasn’t actually expecting him to save the Empire.”

“You see?” Komack asked, looking at Barnett. “I knew he wasn’t command material after he dropped out over that mess with his family.”

“If you were planning to release him, anyway,” Barnett said, ignoring Komack, “surely you can go ahead and do it now? I’m afraid the Emperor is quite insistent about him being Captain of the _Enterprise_.”

McCoy smiled, certain the expression looked half-crazed. “I’m sure I could be persuaded.”

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

Although they had been tremendously lenient with McCoy, they left James in the Booth for almost a full day.

McCoy was there when the doors opened; caught James as he stumbled out.

“Think I’ve been in there too much, McCoy,” James said breathlessly, though he still managed to smirk. “It’s really not so bad, after a while.”

“Doesn’t stop you from looking like shit,” McCoy said, throwing one of James’ arms around his neck. “Come on, kid, we’re going back to my room.”

“Thought that side of the ship exploded?” James’ head bobbed, his body sagging against McCoy’s.

“Not that room,” McCoy said, snarling at the guards to let them out of the chamber. “The dorm.”

“We’re on Earth?” James asked. “No wonder I’m so heavy.”

“As if I need you to point it out,” McCoy said, mostly to himself. He growled at the cadets that tried to stop them, and only just managed not to snap at the fool pilot James had jumped off the platform after.

“Sulu,” James said, watching from half-lidded eyes as Sulu took hold of his other arm.

“Captain,” Sulu said, meeting McCoy’s gaze over James’ head. McCoy bared his teeth at him in silent warning. “There were some cadets following you who looked like they might want to cause some trouble.” He shrugged when James and McCoy looked at him confusedly. “I don’t like owing people.”

“I saved your life, Sulu,” James said with a malicious laugh belying how tired he was. “I own your ass ‘til further notice.”

Sulu flinched minutely.

“I saved the whole Empire’s life,” James said, going limp in their arms. “Should own them all, right, McCoy? And they put me in the Booth.” His head came to rest on McCoy’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering closed. “See if I save them again.”

“Aren’t they—” Sulu began, but McCoy pinched his arm hard to shut him up.

“It’ll work out, James,” McCoy said. “This is us, Sulu.”

“I can help you to your room,” Sulu said.

“No, you can’t,” McCoy said, pulling James gently to get him away from Sulu. “You’re Californian, right? You’ve got that annoying Frisco accent—go celebrate with your family.”

“Who would want to celebrate with family?” Sulu asked.

“Then go drink yourself stupid,” McCoy said. Eyed Sulu and amended, “Stupider.”

James let out a soft, snuffling laugh. “Better go before he hypos you, man. You might be Japanese but this guy’s a full-fledged ninja assassin when he’s cranky.”

McCoy rolled his eyes, giving Sulu a longsuffering look.

“I’m going to throw up, now,” James said, and did.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

It took James nearly two weeks to fully recover.

When he finally woke up, he didn’t seem aware of how much time had passed. Unsurprising, of course, but still somewhat cumbersome, when James looked up at him with a frown and numerous questions.

The most pressing question, to James, was the fate of the _Enterprise_. In fact, all of his questions seemed to lead back to her.

“What happened to Pike?” he asked as they sat on opposite sides of the paltry loveseat situated somewhere near the center of the living room. The television was on, but so quiet neither man could hear it.

“Paralyzed from the waist down,” McCoy said, and hoped he didn’t sound as pleased with himself as he felt.

“Who will captain her, then?” James asked. His face was pulled into the same bitter, insolent expression he’d worn when they first met.

McCoy shrugged.

“What about you? And the others?” James asked. “Sulu, that Russian kid, Uhura…”

McCoy didn’t answer for a moment, until James looked at him. “We’re keeping our posts. I’ll be the Commanding Medical Officer.” He shrugged again. “They haven’t officially announced who the captain will be, as yet.”

James lip curled, looking down at his right arm; at the upraised skin that marked him as a slave. “It won’t be me, I suppose,” he said.

“You’re a slave, James,” McCoy said. “For now.”

“You won’t free me, McCoy. Don’t pretend you will,” James said. “I’m still useful, right? Your puppet.”

McCoy reached over and grabbed James’ arms, yanking until the other man straddled his hips. “You’re the one who wanted to prove he could be my equal, James. Remember?”

“I said don’t play with me, McCoy,” James said, trying weakly to pull away.

McCoy tangled his fingers in James’ hair, forcing their eyes to meet. “And I said my name is Leonard.”

They stared at each other for a long time—McCoy’s heart racing, pupils dilated; James panting for breath, eyelids at half-mast.

“Leonard,” James said, testing the name on his tongue. He smirked when Leonard hardened against him; leaned in close and asked, “Does this mean I can tie you to the bed, now?”

Leonard swallowed hard. “It means you don’t have to be in my bed at all, if you don’t want to.” He shrugged, unconsciously tilting his head up toward James’ lips. “Means I can’t make you do anything, anymore.”

“Unless I let you,” James said.

Leonard chuckled. “That’s a little counterintuitive, James.”

“I’ve heard of it happening, in certain circles,” James said, rocking his hips, sharp blue eyes intently watching as Leonard’s head fell back, mouth forming an ‘o’. “They have something called a safe word, and if the guy in charge goes too far and the other guy says it, they stop.”

“We’ve never gone too far,” Leonard said. He couldn’t keep his hands from going to James’ hips; holding on tight to make sure he didn’t—couldn’t—get up and walk away. “I know your limits.”

James cocked his head to one side, nostrils flaring as Leonard canted his hips up. “You don’t even know what I like, Leonard.” He drew the word out, like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to say it. Like he wanted to try all the ways he could twist it around.

“You like crouching over me while I fuck you,” Leonard said. “The taste of my blood on your tongue. My hand keeping you from coming too soon.” Their eyes met almost on accident, but Leonard cupped James’ face with a hand to keep him from looking away. His voice dropped into a hoarse whisper, thumb dragging across James’ lower lip. “You like it when I kiss you.”

“You like to hold me,” James said, voice accusing, nails biting into Leonard’s chest through his shirt. Their hips moved faster, with the familiarity of those who already knew the right rhythm, the best speed and angle.

“Yeah,” Leonard said, and inched forward to push their lips together. Wasn’t surprised when James bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but couldn’t keep himself from gasping. He groaned as James sucked on the wound, falling back onto the couch and reaching up to pull James down after him, grasping at James’ shirt.

“You like it when I order you around, too,” James said, pressing open-mouthed kisses to Leonard’s neck and jaw, dragging their lips together.

“I was going to say the same thing about you,” Leonard said.

“So tell me to come,” James said. “And I’ll tell you.” He reached down and ground the heel of his hand down against both of them.

“Fuck it, James, we’ll come together,” Leonard said, arching into James’ hand.

“Together,” James echoed softly, and made a noise that sounded like it had been dragged from the pit of his stomach. His lips formed a word that might have been Leonard’s name but could just have easily have been a plea to whatever god came to mind.

Leonard trembled as he came, sticky heat spreading through the front of his pants. He wished one of them had thought to unzip their flies, so the come would splatter up and mix together on his shirt. He settled for opening his mouth as James kissed him again. His hands cupped James’ buttocks and pulled him even closer as they came down from their orgasms.

“You’re holding me again,” James said hoarsely, nose buried in the crook of Leonard’s neck.

“You kissed me,” Leonard said, boneless.

“You kissed me, Captain,” James said, lips curling into something like a smile.

Leonard snorted. “That thing isn’t out of your arm, yet, kid. Don’t tempt me.”

“When will you take it out, Leonard?” James asked, Leonard’s name coming out in a defiant tone as if to remind Leonard of his own declaration of their equality.

Leonard rolled a shoulder up into a careless shrug. “I suppose I could be talked into taking it out tomorrow, if you’re still lucid and up to a trip to Medical.”

“I don’t want to go to Medical. You have all the equipment here,” James said.

“No, actually, I don’t,” Leonard said.

“You have your scalpels,” James said petulantly. “And even Joanna knows where you keep your spare regenerators.”

“I generally reserve my scalpels for special occasions, James, you know that,” Leonard said. “I don’t have anesthesia, here, either.”

“I can take a little pain,” James said. “Come on, Leonard, take it out.”

“Still can’t quite bring yourself to beg, can you, James?” Leonard asked. “But you’re trying awful hard, I’ll give you that.” He bucked his hips, shoving at James’ shoulder at the same time.

Caught by surprise, James fell over onto the couch. “What—”

“I’m not doing anything in come-soaked pants,” Leonard said, and dropped his without any pomp and circumstance. He stripped off his shirt, too, and wiped away what come was left.

“You’d rather operate naked?” James asked even as he undid his pants.

“I’ve cut you naked, before,” Leonard said with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “But I’m not operating on anything until you eat something, and I’m sure as hell not cooking without clothes on.”

“Just throw me a power bar and be done with it.”

“You’ve not eaten a proper meal since before the Kobayashi Maru, kid, and that was over two weeks ago,” Leonard said, already in the bedroom, halfway in a new pair of boxers. “Take a damn shower and I’ll have some vittles ready for you when you’re done. And then we’ll see about getting that slave marker out of your arm.”

Leonard couldn’t see it, but he was sure James was rolling his eyes.

“Who even says vittles, anyway?” James asked, just loud enough that Leonard could hear.

“I do,” Leonard said. “Take a shower.”

James grumbled something under his breath, but the bathroom door slammed a moment later.

Stifling a grin, Leonard zipped up his jeans and went to the kitchen.

He had only been cooking for what seemed like a few minutes when James joined him, peering over his shoulder.

“What sort of vittles we having, hoss?” James asked in some sort of an attempt at a southern accent.

“Pork and beans with some possum thrown in for flavor,” Leonard drawled, and chortled at the face James made. “As you can very well see, you damned infant, I’m poaching a salmon.”

“Salmon?”

“Protein and iron, and all sorts of lovely vitamins from the greens, which you will be eating all of,” Leonard said. “I might force a hypo on you, too. Go set out some plates and wine glasses.”

“Wine? Really, Leonard?”

“Red wine. It does have some medicinal properties, James, and it might numb some of the sting when I start cutting into you,” Leonard said, and scowled at James’ skeptical look. “I’m a doctor, dammit, you could at least trust me with your health.”

“I trust you, I trust you,” James said, already moving around the kitchen for supplies. He bumped his hip into Leonard’s a few times as he reached for some things, and Leonard wondered if that was his way of apologizing. “Island or table?”

“Table,” Leonard said, setting out a potholder.

“Are you going to serve me?” James asked, completely deadpan, and let out a short bark of laughter when Leonard smacked him across the back of his head.

“Keep getting mouthy, James, see how that goes for you,” Leonard said as he sat down. “Get the lemon juice.”

Dinner passed in relative silence, tense but strangely lighthearted, like everything wasn’t about to change. Like they were going to wake up tomorrow as James and McCoy instead of the new, unfamiliar James and Leonard.

“Tie a belt around your arm,” Leonard said as he wiped his mouth. “I’ll be back in a moment. And don’t you dare sneak any more wine—one glass is plenty.”

He tried to ignore James’ eyes on him as he moved around, gathering a regen from here and a scalpel from there, towels and antiseptic, a lamp and some tweezers, sanitary gloves and surgical masks.

“Might shouldn’t watch,” he said after he’d set everything up, pulling up a chair next to James. “Try to relax your arm.”

James’ arm went limp immediately, but his eyes stayed intent on the scalpel slicing into his skin. “I’ve never seen you in surgery, before,” he said, and sounded awestruck.

“Ain’t no thing,” Leonard said, eyebrows furrowing as he worked. “Tilt the lamp a little—there, thank you. Besides, this hardly merits the word surgery. Just a simple incision…”

“You say it’s simple,” James said, grimacing as he watched Leonard dig out the chip that marked him as a slave. His eyes flickered up to Leonard’s face and stayed there.

Leonard caught his gaze and arched an eyebrow at him. “I’ve done work in places with observation rooms many a time,” he said, and looked back down at James’ arm. “I’m sure I could get you a ticket in, next time.”

James hummed thoughtfully.

“Hold this,” Leonard said, pressing a corner of the towel over the wound. He flicked on the regen, focusing on the steady hum it made as it warmed up. Waving James’ hand away, he poured antiseptic over the wound and wiped as much of the blood off as he could. He picked up the regen and held it over the incision, squinting against the glare of the regen until he was sure it had done its job.

“It’s no wonder the Emperor dragged you away from Georgia,” James said, flexing his arm. He rubbed his thumb over the spot. “Feels weird.”

“You’ll feel like that for a few days, probably,” Leonard said, stripping off his gloves. “Like something’s missing. I’ve heard people claim they had phantom pains from those for years after, but the worst of it should go away soon enough.”

“So I might still obey when you order me around?” James asked with a smirk.

“Might. Might not.” He held up the chip. “You want to keep it?”

“Not likely,” James said with a snort. He looked back down at his arm like he was still trying to accustom himself to the sight of flat, smooth skin. “You didn’t even leave a scar.”

“Don’t reckon Starfleet Captains ought to have a slave scar,” Leonard said.

“Everyone knows I was a slave,” James said.

“Everyone thinks you were a slave,” Leonard said. “They remember you as a gladiator, but not all of them had the markers. And they think the Emperor gave you to me as a slave, but they see you’ve been made captain, with no scar? Maybe they’re remembering wrong, or maybe they heard wrong, or maybe everything they think they know about you is bullshit. A few of them might question you, but you’re more than capable of handling yourself and you’ve got me along to back you.” He smiled maliciously. “There’s not many’ll cross a doctor.”

“You’ll still be controlling me from the shadows,” James said distastefully.

“A partnership’s a rare thing, but even you must understand the idea,” Leonard said. “Besides, I’m not expecting them to get so far they’d try my temper. You’ve built up quite a reputation for yourself, ex-gladiator that you are.”

“Ex-slave,” James said.

“Gladiator’s the word we’ll use,” Leonard said. “And when someone questions it, you’re their superior officer and they’d better damn well learn to keep their mouths shut.”

“Or I shut it for them,” James said.

“You or I, one,” Leonard said with that nasty upward twist of his mouth, again.

“And what happens if we have a conflict of interest?” James asked. “Partner?”

“When it happens? We’ll deal with it,” Leonard said. “Fight it out, fuck it out—hell, we can even talk it out like civilized human beings if we’re feeling particularly experimental.”

“You’d hypo me in the neck at the first opportunity,” James said with a snort.

“If you hadn’t stabbed me, first,” Leonard retorted, but couldn’t bring himself to sneer as he normally would. He reached out and put his hand over James’, over the nonexistent mark on his arm. “What do you want to do, free man?”

James took hold of Leonard’s hand and stood, tugging Leonard to his feet. “I want to sleep. And then when we aren’t on the verge of passing out in the middle of something interesting, I want to fuck you on your hands and knees until you can’t remember anything but the feeling of me inside you.”

“Wasn’t it you who said we both preferred it the other way around?” Leonard asked even as he followed James to the bedroom.

“We don’t have to be exclusive about it,” James said, stripping off his shirt in one swift motion. “I do occasionally enjoy being the fucker and not the fucked, as you well know.”

“What if I don’t like it that way?” Leonard asked. He raised his arms over his head when James tugged at the hem of his shirt.

“Partners make concessions, don’t they?” James asked with a careless shrug. “Besides, you like it well enough.” He pressed a hand against Leonard’s half-hard dick, giving Leonard an impish smile.

“Reckon you might could talk me into it,” Leonard grunted, and didn’t fight when James pushed him down onto the bed.

They slept with their backs pressed together, legs tangled, hands under their pillows fingering their weapon of choice.

(I’MAWAREOFTHAT,PAGEBREAK)

“I thought you didn’t want her on the _Enterprise_?” James asked, watching with narrowed eyes as Joanna’s things were loaded next to his and Leonard’s on the shuttle.

“I don’t,” Leonard said. “But I trust you and me to take care of her better than anyone on Earth, even flying around in some glorified tin can.”

James elbowed him. “Kids aren’t allowed on starships.”

“They are when their father could suddenly decide maybe he doesn’t want to free the slave the Empire’s gagging to make captain of their flagship,” Leonard said.

James’ head jerked around to look at him, but Leonard didn’t return the look. “You—”

“You killed one nanny who went after her, James,” Leonard said. “I’ve killed dozens.”

“Nobody fucks with a doctor’s brat,” James said.

“Naïve ain’t a good look on you, kid,” Leonard said. “I’m a person with money and power. I’ve got poor cousins and pissed off ex-patients or families of former patients. Even folks with hardly a nickel to their name can scrape up enough for an assassin, if they look hard enough.”

“You do background checks, don’t you?” James asked, horrified.

“I’m a doctor, not a damn computer genius,” Leonard said, jaw tight. He didn’t need James to point out his shortcomings as a father—he could do that without any help. “I tried, alright, but eventually it was just easier to let them take care of her until they felt comfortable enough to try and have a go, and kill them.”

“I could…”

“It’s already done,” Leonard said with an angry, dismissive wave of his hand. “If I try to back out, now, the Emperor will refuse me out of spite. She’ll be in danger no matter where she goes, but at least…at least here I’ll be around to protect her.”

James stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “There are lots of kids who need protection, but yours isn’t one of them.”

“Had to teach her to protect herself, James,” Leonard said with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Leonard, she once sedated and neutered a dog that tried to bite her,” James said.

“And she did a damn good job of it, for a seven year old,” Leonard said. “There she is, now, hush up about leaving her here.”

“Daddy,” Joanna said as she barreled into his side. Clarice—the newest nanny—came trotting up a moment later, haggard. “Hello, James.”

“That’s Captain James, now,” James said, ruffling her hair.

“You’ll always be James to me, James,” she said, beaming up at him. “Since you’re captain now does that mean no more piggy back rides?”

“You’re too old for piggy back rides, Joanna,” Leonard said.

“Which is daddy-talk for maybe when no one else can see,” James whispered conspiratorially, and the two shared a wink.

“Right,” Leonard said, rolling his eyes.

“Can we paint my room yellow, Daddy?” she asked.

“Thought your favorite color was pink,” he said.

“Not since, like, two years ago,” she said, making a face at him. “And then it was blue and now it’s yellow.”

“Like James’ shirt?” Leonard asked.

“My shirt’s gold,” James said.

“Gold is garish, James,” Joanna informed him solemnly. “I like yellow.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Joanna,” James said. When Joanna rolled her eyes at him, he said, “I’m the captain, now, you know. If I say no painting your room, you can’t paint your room.”

“Don’t be immature, James,” she said. Then she stuck her tongue out at him, blew a raspberry, and skipped ahead of them onto the shuttle.

“No respect,” James said. “Your daughter has no respect.”

“She gets it honest,” Leonard said with a shrug.

“That she does,” James said.

“We’ll show respect when it’s important to, James, don’t you worry,” Leonard said.

James snorted. He clapped a hand on Leonard’s shoulder. “Well, old man, are you ready for a life of swashbuckling adventures?”

“I’m ready to keep you from dying from swashbuckling adventures,” Leonard said. “Does that count?”

James waved him off dismissively. “After fighting Nero and losing Vulcan and nearly losing Earth, what sort of adventures could actually come close to killing me?”

Leonard sighed. “I really don’t want to know.”

James laughed and swatted Leonard on the ass as he climbed into the shuttle.

Then, turning to Clarice, he pulled out a phaser. “By the way, Clarice, I know about the poisoned cereal,” he said.

Clarice gaped at him, holding her hands up as she tried to blurt out some sort of defense. He shot her before she could get out more than three words.

“You’re fired,” he said, and followed after Leonard without even waiting to watch her crumple to the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

“You’re sure bringing her along was a good idea?” James asked from the corner of his mouth.

“I’m watching them,” Leonard said, eyes narrowing at the Glorkhian crouched next to Joanna. “She needs to get off that confounded tin can and feel real gravity. Breathe un-recycled air.” His nostrils flared. “Even if it does smell like a goddamned swamp.”

The Glorkhian touched Joanna’s hair gingerly. Bowed its head so she could run her fingers over the crest of feathers on its otherwise bald, scaled head. She asked it something, pointing at the base of its neck. It stood. Unclasped the thumbs of its wings and spread them wide. Puffed out the bright plumage covering them and said something, its inhumanly wide mouth curling into a toothy smile.

“Just not sure about bringing her to a planet we haven’t finished negotiations with,” James said. Licked his lips and drummed his fingers on the phaser at his hip.

“They practically shat themselves when we beamed down, James, I’m not terribly worried.” He smiled proudly. “She already asked to dissect one of them, bloodthirsty thing.”

“She does have a fondness for cutting things up,” James said. “Inherited that from you, I suppose?”

“You know I prefer poison,” Leonard said. Let his fingers brush against James’ side.

“Intimately, yes,” James said with a snort. “Though I haven’t seen you stab anyone else who rides with you.”

“No one else rides with me.” Their eyes locked for a moment before Leonard’s gaze snapped back to his daughter. His shoulders tensed.

“You two need to relax before someone untoward notices,” Uhura said.

“Someone like you?” Leonard asked.

“If anyone on the ship hasn’t noticed how you two dote on her, yet, I’ll kill them myself,” Sulu said with a roll of his eyes. “They obviously aren’t intelligent enough to be on the _Enterprise_.”

Leonard grunted. The Glorkhian asked Joanna something that made her laugh and twirl so her skirt billowed out around her. It looked at Leonard and flashed him the unsettling smile all of its people seemed to possess. The hair at the base of his neck prickled.

With no further warning it grabbed Joanna. Her laugh turned into a high-pitched scream. The Glorkhian took a few steps. Rose into the air with a strong flap of its wings.

“Fucker,” James said.

Leonard barely heard James’ phaser discharging. His eyes stayed glued to the Glorkhian as it shrieked and fell back to the ground. He grabbed Sulu’s katana. Flicked it open.

“Let us take care of this, McCoy.” Sulu’s hand fisted into the material of his shirtsleeve.

He snarled. Sulu reared back, clutching his face. Blood welled up between his fingers. Dripped to the ground.

Leonard strode over to the fallen Glorkhian. Raised the bloodied katana over his head.

“Close your eyes, Joanna,” he said, and took care of it.

James demanded they be allowed to keep its heart as tribute. He gave it to Joanna.

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

“Your orders were to keep the Glorkhians in the dark,” Admiral Komack seethed. “Glorkh is the first planet we’ve visited in this solar system, and we don’t know yet how much contact they’re in with the others.”

“Yes, sir,” James said.

“Negotiations with the other planets may well be far more cumbersome if they know how violent we are,” Komack said. “The Glorkhians seemed to believe in peace.”

Leonard snorted in spite of himself.

“And don’t get me started on you, Lieutenant.” Komack rounded on him. “I’ve heard you’ve got a short and wild temper, but such an outburst is unbefitting of a man of your station.”

“I thought I did a good job of holding it back,” Leonard said.

“You hacked that Glorkhian into bits,” Komack said.

“Yes, well, I didn’t have time to plan anything more suitable.”

“Nothing at all would have been suitable. All the damned thing did was grab some girl—”

“My daughter,” Leonard said.

Komack paused. Cleared his throat.

“The point,” Komack said loudly, like he was speaking over someone, “is that it is unsuitable behavior. And since none of the other Admirals seem to care, since you’re their golden crew, it falls to me to insist upon a punishment.”

Untrue. The other Admirals didn’t care because they had, over the past six months, gotten sick of screaming themselves hoarse only to be ignored. Alternatively they were ignored before they could even begin screaming.

“I expect a report to be filed on this, Kirk, and I expect to receive it within the hour.”

The transmission cut out.

“Dr. McCoy,” James said. Stood, arms behind his back, a stern expression on his face. “It falls to me to dole out your punishment. If you would, please.”

Leonard arched an eyebrow at him.

“Just come here,” James said, rolling his eyes.

Leonard sighed heavily, but went to James’ side.

“Give me your hand,” James said. Grabbed Leonard’s hand when Leonard didn’t move. Struck his wrist with a resounding smack.

Leonard looked down at their hands. Back up at James.

“Everyone witnessed the esteemed Dr. McCoy receiving a slap on the wrist for his fuck up on Glorkh?” James asked.

“Captain,” Spock said exasperatedly.

“Witnessed,” Uhura said with a barely suppressed smile.

“Witnessed,” Chekov said.

“Seen, heard, and thoroughly enjoyed,” Scott said.

Spock glared at all of them. Leonard wondered whether he would, were he human, bury his face in his hands and cry. Finally he said, “witnessed.”

“The Glorkhians expect you to lead negotiations from now on,” James said as he flopped back into the captain’s chair. “We’re sending a formal party by shuttle, first, but you’ll follow in the transporter.”

“That death trap?” Leonard asked.

“It’s not a death trap,” Scott said.

“The reports sitting on my desk say different,” Leonard said. “That thing scrambles my atoms one tiny bit and it’s your hide I’ll take as recompense.”

Scott laughed, but saluted jauntily. “Best go check the calibrations, then. Should be good to go in an hour, Captain.”

“He’s needed in half that time,” James said, and smirked at Scott’s exasperated moan. James motioned at the door. “You really should change your clothes, Dr. McCoy. I don’t think that much blood is regulation and I would so hate to punish you again so soon.”

“By your leave, Captain,” Leonard drawled as he joined Scott in the turbolift.

“Granted, Doctor,” James said, and waved cheerfully as the turbolift doors closed behind them.

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

Apparently, appearing in a transporter room with an openly smiling not-James and clean shaven not-Spock was something not even Scott could have stopped from happening.

“Bones,” not-James said, approaching the transporter pad. He brought a hand up as if to slap Leonard.

Leonard grabbed the hand and kicked not-James’ feet out from under him. Followed the man’s descent to the floor. Pinned him to the ground with a knee on his chest.

“Who the fuck are you and where is James?” he demanded, pocketknife at not-James’ throat.

“James?” not-James repeated, hands up near his head in a gesture of surrender James would never have deigned to use, though the smile was still present on the imposter’s mouth. “You’ve never called me anything but Jim. Or kid. Or damned fool.”

“Answer the question.” Leonard leaned more heavily on not-James’ chest. His eyes flickered up to the other occupants of the room, their phasers drawn and pointed at him. And, as if this whole situation wasn’t already confusing, set to ‘stun.’

“I’m James T. Kirk,” not-James said. “Commonly referred to as Jim or Captain Kirk. Or damned fool.” He shrugged. “I’m not particularly picky.”

“Captain, I believe you are escalating the situation,” not-Spock said.

“You aren’t going to kill me, are you, Bones?” not-James—Jim—asked. Finally, Leonard saw something of the James he knew—a glimmer of the anticipation for danger that so often ruled James’ actions.

“Not until you tell me where James is,” Leonard said, searching Jim’s face for more signs of the man he knew. None seemed forthcoming. “And stop calling me that. My name is Le—” His teeth snapped together with a vicious click. Clenched and unclenched. He snarled, “McCoy. Call me McCoy.”

“Okay, McCoy,” Jim said. When his hand came up to lightly brush fingers against Leonard’s wrist, Leonard should have slit his throat. But something (the eyes; it had to be those familiar, too-blue eyes) stopped him. “How’s about you put that pig sticker down and we go talk this out like two civilized human beings?”

What was civilized, here? In a world where James (not-James; Jim) smiled carelessly at a man with a knife at his throat? Where people set their phasers to ‘stun’ when someone attacked their captain?

“Tell your lackeys to holster their weapons, then,” Leonard said, glancing up at the others.

“You are in no position to negotiate, Doctor,” not-Spock said.

“Just put it away, Spock,” Jim said with a surprisingly easy laugh. “You can nerve pinch him if worse comes to worst.”

Though not-Spock’s eyes narrowed at Leonard in warning, he and the other men put their phasers away.

Leonard flicked his knife closed with a snap that made not-Spock twitch almost imperceptibly (in a way he was sure his own Spock would have, if he were prone to not taking out a threat regardless of James’ wishes). He stood, and sneered at the hand Jim raised for help up.

“It would seem we’ve had a transporter malfunction,” Jim said, looking more amused than anything else by Leonard’s stark refusal. He stood, brushing himself off. “You’ve been brought here, which I suppose means Bones is…wherever you’re from.”

Leonard snorted. “Then you’d better hope James is in a good mood. He tends to kill first and ask questions later.”

For the first time, Jim’s smile faltered. When he recovered from the momentary lapse, it was with a hard, forced smile—an expression Leonard was far more comfortable with, truth be told.

“I’ll hope, then,” Jim said tightly. “I’d say it’s about time for lunch, Mr. Spock, wouldn’t you?”

“I do not think it wise to bring this…man into a public space,” not-Spock said.

“I won’t kill anyone if they don’t try to kill me,” Leonard said.

“In this case, I believe homicide is the least of our worries,” not-Spock said with a frown.

Leonard sneered.

“Now, now, Mr. Spock,” Jim said. “He may be a bit more rough-and-tumble than our beloved doctor, but I’m sure he’s still Bones somewhere deep, deep down in the confines of his evil little heart.”

Leonard wondered if all of James’ counterparts were slightly mad, but decided he truly had no desire to know.

“We’ll take lunch in my room.” Jim held up a hand when not-Spock began to protest. “I’m sure it’s unwise, Spock, but I believe it to be our best option.”

“Our best option is to throw this imposter in the brig,” not-Spock said. Then, in a way that sounded distinctly more like a curse than a title, he added, “Captain.”

Jim laughed and waved him off. He looked for a moment like he might throw an arm around Leonard’s shoulders, but thought better of it at the last second and merely grinned at him, instead. “Shall we, doctor? You’re still a doctor, right?”

“I’m the Commanding Medical Officer of the ISS _Enterprise_ ,” Leonard said, straightening.

Jim’s eyebrows rose. “ISS?”

“Imperial Star Ship,” Leonard said. When Jim gave him a blank look, he said, “Any ship belonging to Imperial Starfleet and the Terran Empire.”

“Terran Empire,” Jim said, cocking his head to one side.

“Fascinating,” not-Spock said.

“What am I, here?” Leonard asked, looking around. The passageways of this…whatever it was certainly looked like the _Enterprise_.

“CMO of the USS _Enterprise_ ,” Jim said with a laugh. He laughed often, this alternate version of James, and in front of people James would have killed for bearing witness to the sound. “United Star Ship, of Starfleet, of the United Federation of Planets.”

“United.” Leonard repeated the word incredulously, and couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from him at the very thought. “How quaint.”

“We’ve done a lot of good,” Jim said, but didn’t seem overly upset by Leonard’s outburst.

Leonard snorted—surely ‘good’ didn’t mean the same thing here as it did back home, either—but refrained from further comment. They entered Jim’s room, which was so similar to James’ that Leonard had to forcibly remind himself it wasn’t really James’ room.

“Will Joanna join us for dinner?” he asked as he took his usual seat on the couch. Jim and not-Spock, he noticed, also went to their counterparts’ accustomed seats. Jim’s Yeoman—not the last girl Leonard had seen in James’ quarters, but one who looked vaguely familiar—brought their food.

“Joanna?” Jim asked with a slight frown.

“She isn’t here?” Leonard asked, a shiver going up his spine. “Where is she? She exists, doesn’t she? My daughter? Don’t tell me that fool doppelganger of mine left her on Earth?”

“Not entirely of his own volition,” Jim said, not unkindly. “Jocelyn was granted custody in the divorce.”

“Jocelyn?” Leonard asked. “Divorce?”

“You and she are still married?” Jim asked.

Leonard snorted, lip curling. “Of course not. I killed that cheating whore eleven years ago.”

Jim stared at him.

“Killed, doctor?” not-Spock asked.

“Of course,” Leonard said. “She gave me an excuse, so I killed her. Tore Joanna out of her stomach and incubated her to term.”

“You…?” Jim said slowly, looking ill. “Oh my God.”

“How are you still a free man?” not-Spock asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Leonard asked. “That’s standard procedure. Hell, how do you think I ended up in Starfleet? Sure as fuck wasn’t my choice—Emperor Archer saw Jocelyn and her lover hanging from my wall and figured I’d make a good addition to the fleet.”

“You…you aren’t supposed to kill anyone, much less…what about the Hippocratic Oath?” Jim asked. He looked like he might hyperventilate at any moment. “Do no harm?”

“You mean to tell me people actually follow that hack’s teachings, in this universe?” Leonard asked. “It’s no wonder you’re ‘united,’ with that sort of philosophy.”

“So in your universe…?” Jim asked.

“In my universe, Hippocrates healed the wrong man and was gutted for his trouble,” Leonard said. “I took the oath, sure, but no one takes it seriously unless they’ve got something to gain. If I heal everyone who bleeds on my doorstep, it’s because they know there are a thousand ways I could ‘accidentally’ mess up their surgery or worse if they don’t actually succeed in killing me. And I certainly have no qualms killing anyone foolish enough to think I can’t track down any non-lethal forms of revenge.”

Jim shook his head, a hand over his mouth.

“I will inform M’Benga of his temporary status as CMO until we have returned this man to his own universe,” not-Spock said blandly.

Jim nodded.

“What a strange place this is,” Leonard said, cocking his head to one side. “You’ve never killed anyone before, Jim?”

“Not unless I had to,” Jim said. “I certainly don’t relish it—I’ve had nightmares.”

“How…endearing.” Leonard’s hand twitched with the desire to reach over and pet Jim’s head. Instead, he took a bite of his steak.

“Your version of me has?” Jim asked.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Leonard said, and fought a smile when he saw Jim blanch at the very thought. “When I met him, he was a gladiator.”

“A common occupation in your universe?” not-Spock asked with something like a sneer.

“Only for slaves,” Leonard said with some amusement. “James’ brother botched an assignment, and James traded his own freedom for that of his nephews. They would have been taken to the mines and worked to death as punishment for their father’s failure. He is very loyal, my James.” He arched an eyebrow at Jim. “That, I presume, is a trait that carried over into this universe?”

“I’d like to think so,” Jim said.

“Tell me more about this universe,” Leonard said. “You were never a slave?”

“Slavery is banned in Federation space,” Jim said. “So no.”

“Banned,” Leonard repeated thoughtfully. “How did we meet, then?”

“He joined Starfleet to get away from Jocelyn, and I joined it in answer to a dare from Christopher Pike,” Jim said. “We met in the shuttle—he threatened to throw up on me.”

He obviously meant it to be funny, that little anecdote of his, but Leonard was more concerned with something else he’d said.

“Christopher Pike is here?” Leonard asked, lip curling up.

“Not here, but he exists in this universe, yes. He was…he can’t walk, anymore,” Jim said.

“The Narada?” Leonard asked. “Or something else?”

“Nero was in your universe, too?” Jim asked with a bemused frown. “Weird.”

“And my doppelganger…he also operated on Pike?” Leonard asked. “He…did he say why he was unable to completely cure him?”

“He tried his hardest,” Jim said. “Didn’t have the equipment to do much more than save Pike’s life, and that was a miracle in and of itself.”

“I see,” Leonard said, and wondered if it was true, or if his doppelganger had lied to Jim as he had lied to James. Was he protecting Jim from Pike in this universe, too?

“Your version of Pike suffered the same fate?” Jim asked. “A Centaurian slug? Paralysis?”

Leonard had already shocked Jim with his treatment of Jocelyn—what would he say if Leonard told him what he had done to Pike? Why he had done it? Jim seemed fond of this universe’s Pike. Perhaps here Pike had never hurt Jim.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, Pike is paralyzed.”

Jim’s shoulders slumped, and his face—filled with what was apparently hope for Pike’s well-being—fell.

Leonard couldn’t understand why.

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

“I’m banning him from Sickbay, Captain,” Christine said, a look of unadulterated fury on her face. Leonard, equal parts amused and bewildered, shrugged minutely at Jim’s curious glance. “He tried withholding anesthesia from a patient.”

“How will they learn not to do stupid, dangerous shit if you keep rewarding them for it?” Leonard asked.

“That might be how things work in _your_ universe, but here it’s illegal, not to mention immoral and unethical,” she said, jabbing a finger at his chest angrily. “Our job as healers is to do whatever we can to ease a patient’s suffering with the tools that are available to us—however much they might deserve to be in a little pain. You could get your license taken away for that sort of behavior.”

“I could get Bones’ license taken away,” he corrected her. He had taken to referring to this universe’s version of him by Jim’s nickname, mostly because of the expression on Jim’s face when he did so. Also, Jim seemed to find it off-putting when he called his counterpart ‘my doppelganger’.

“A far more reprehensible thing,” she said, and turned on Jim. “I have too many patients right now to argue with him and make sure he’s not doing anything needlessly cruel. You try to sort him out, or he’s your problem until you fix this mess.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away, nose in the air.

“And they say redheads are the spitfires,” Leonard mused aloud, head tilted to one side as he watched her leave.

“What did she mean by ‘needlessly cruel’?” Jim asked, frowning at him.

“Bones’ scalpels are only for show,” Leonard said with another shrug. Unsure of whether it was a question or a statement, he added, “This universe doesn’t use medicine as a form of correcting idiotic behavior.”

“No, we don’t,” Jim said.

“You don’t have an Agony Booth, either,” Leonard said. “And I’m told,” he continued skeptically (because, honestly, he still wasn’t sure if he believed it), “capital punishment was outlawed?”

“Centuries ago,” Jim said.

Distasteful, was the word.

“It’s a wonder the whole place hasn’t descended into anarchy,” Leonard said, wrinkling his nose.

“It’s not as if people go unpunished,” Sulu said. “We take away privileges, put people in the brig...and there’s always positive reinforcement when people do something good.”

Leonard pursed his lips together.

“We haven’t descended into anarchy, yet,” Jim said. “So we must be doing something right, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re all crazy,” Leonard said, and quirked an eyebrow at the lot of them when they laughed. “And I think you’re going about things in an unnecessarily difficult manner when coming down hard and swift would solve things much faster.”

“Captain,” Chekov said. “I’m detecting the signature of a Klingon war bird on the outskirts of our scanner range. Approaching our starboard bow.”

“Doctor.” Jim stood and clapped Leonard on the shoulder. This version of James was remarkably tactile; Leonard wondered if James would be the same if he could. “Why don’t I give you the chance to show us your universe’s methods of dealing with Klingons?”

“Captain…” Spock said disapprovingly.

“Dammit, I’m a doctor, not a captain,” Leonard said. He noticed several of the crew blinking at him and frowned at them in response.

“We know how we deal with them and the usual fallout from an encounter—let’s see if your way is really the better,” Jim said.

“A challenge,” Leonard said somewhat dubiously.

“Yes,” Jim said. “Although immediately firing isn’t an option.”

Leonard scoffed at the very idea. How plebian. “What terms?”

“We’ll settle the terms later,” Jim said, waving him off. “They might not have noticed us just yet but they will, soon, and they’ll hail us. Don’t worry; I’ll step in if things get too far out of hand.”

“You won’t question my methods until it’s over?” Leonard asked.

“Nope,” Jim said with the impish grin, the spark in his eye, that made him look more like James than at almost any other time.

“Alright.” Leonard sat down in the captain’s chair. He motioned to the floor at his feet with an imperious wave of his hand and, eyebrow cocked, said, “Kneel.”

Jim’s grin froze on his face. “Excuse me?”

Leonard clucked his tongue and stood back up.

“I said, kneel.” He put a hand on the back of Jim’s neck and pushed, simultaneously tapping his foot against the back of Jim’s knees so Jim was forced to the floor with a solid thump. “Head down, hands behind your back—as a matter of fact…”

He rucked Jim’s command shirt up over his head and tied a semi-intricate knot around Jim’s arms.

“Kinky, McCoy,” Jim said, smirking up at him, not at all bothered by the gaping faces of his coworkers.

Leonard snorted. Playing footsy was kinky. Cuddling in the wee hours of the morning was kinky. Tying people up? That was something any newly pubescent teenager might try.

He smacked Jim’s cheek just hard enough to give him a shock, and grabbed a fistful of hair, forcing Jim to look at the floor.

“Head down, kid, or this won’t work,” he said. “You look up without permission again and you’re on your stomach.” He glanced around. “That goes for the rest of you, too. Keep your eyes on your stations until I address you. Don’t speak unless I speak to you, first, and when I do speak to you flinch a little like you think I’m going to strike you. From what I’ve gleaned of your Klingons,” because his universe’s Klingons were long gone, a notch in the Empire’s belt (and not much of a notch, at that), “they’ll be impressed by a power play. And fear.” He let loose the cruel smile that frightened even his own comrades. “I’m good with fear.”

“Play along, guys,” Jim said.

Leonard growled and slapped Jim again. “You’ve put me in charge, Captain.” He glared at the others in turns. “Don’t keep looking to him for permission or you’ll give us away. I’m the one in control, here, and I’m the one you should be scared of making angry.”

Surprisingly—and although she did raise an eyebrow at him—Uhura was the first to turn to her console, head bowed. Spock was the next, though he looked the Vulcan equivalent of positively mutinous, and the others soon followed suit.

“They’re hailing us…Doctor,” Uhura said, his title turned into an inquiry.

“Doctor is fine,” he said. He sat back down regally, legs crossed, elbows on the armrests. “Put them onscreen.”

A face appeared, ugly and pinched and covered in more hair than would make up a courtier’s wig. Leonard was glad his universe hadn’t been kind to this race.

“The USS _Enterprise_ ,” said the face with a voice like rocks in a tumbler. The being’s eyes narrowed. “You are not Captain James Kirk.”

“I should hope not,” Leonard said. “I’m Doctor Leonard McCoy, formerly CMO of the _Enterprise_ , currently her commander.”

“Where is Kirk, MakKhoi?”

“You call me doctor, son, before I slap the fur off your face,” he snapped, ignoring Chekov’s sharp intake of breath. “And damned well return my introduction before you start asking idiotic questions.”

The Klingon seemed taken aback—these truly weren’t Starfleet’s usual methods.

“I am Captain Kaybok of the House of Agan,” Kaybok said. Suspiciously, he asked, “why was my question idiotic?”

“Because as you can very well see, Kirk is right here,” Leonard said, smacking his boot against Jim’s face carelessly.

Kaybok stared blankly. “What manner of trickery is this, MakKhoi? That cannot be the infamous Captain Kirk.”

“Why ever not?” He leaned forward and grabbed hold of a tuft of hair, turning Kirk’s head to face the screen. “Say hello to the nice Klingon, James.”

The name slipped out before he could stop it, but he forced himself not to tense up. Jim did, though; he wondered why.

When Jim didn’t respond other than the tightening of his shoulders, Leonard leaned even further toward him, grip tightening.

“Say hello, James,” he said through gritted teeth, and had to take a deep breath to quell the automatic swelling of his cock when Jim looked down as smoothly as if he’d been trained.

“Hello,” he said quietly, though not so quiet as to go unheard.

“How have you done this?” Kaybok asked. At the last minute, perhaps even in response to the glare Leonard leveled him with, he added, “Doctor?”

“You’d be surprised what a doctor can do,” Leonard said, releasing Jim to lean back into the captain’s chair. “I got sick of his foolish attempts at captaincy and…” he waved a hand dismissively, “gave him a physical, in a manner of speaking.”

“I was under the impression Starfleet did not operate in such a manner,” Kaybok said, his tone derisive.

“They don’t,” Leonard said. “I do.”

Kaybok snorted. “And the rest of the _Enterprise_ ’s infamously loyal crew went along with it? This is obviously some strange new trick, Doctor.”

“They’re going along with it because even the most inflexible loyalties can be swayed if one knows what buttons to push,” Leonard said. “A doctor’s job is to know those buttons.” He smiled crookedly. “I’m very good at my job, Kaybok.”

Kaybok had been subtle about it, before, but he was now very obviously uncomfortable.

“Now tell me, Klingon—whose space are we in, at the moment?” Leonard asked.

“We are at the edge of the Neutral Zone,” Kaybok said, sitting ramrod straight in his chair. “This space is not Federation.”

“Your map seems to be outdated, son,” Leonard said. “So let me enlighten you: this is very much Federation space, and ignorance, you should know, is not an acceptable excuse for trespassing. Now, we can keep up this little pissing contest ‘til we both faint from dehydration or apoplexy, but the truth is I’m right and you’re wrong, my ship outguns yours, and I’m starting to lose what I should warn you was a very short temper in the first place. So I’d thank you kindly to turn your sorry ass right around and get out of my space. Sulu, are we armed?”

Sulu jumped a little in his seat. “N-no sir, we aren’t.”

“Why in the hell not? Arm us now; I’d say my patience will last for five more minutes, so you’d better be ready, by then.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said, fingers flying across his console.

“We will not be cowed so easily, MakKhoi,” Kaybok said, but the ship was already beginning to turn around. “Next time there will be more of us, and even your shiny new starship will be no match.”

“Bless your heart, Kaybok,” Leonard said with a dark chuckle. “You really think I’m not going to have at least two more starships patrolling this airspace within the next few hours? Get on out of here before I decide I need a matching set of Captains at my feet.” Before Kaybok could try again to get the last word, he said, “Cut transmission, Uhura.”

She did, giving him a tiny smile that he returned.

“Now, Sulu, fire one shot after them—don’t hit them, just close enough to startle them a bit.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu said. They watched in tense silence as the shot was fired. The bird shook in the aftershocks of the explosion; Leonard laughed as it went into warp and disappeared.

“Good shot, Mr. Sulu,” he said, then looked at Jim. “We’ll have to figure out a way for you to reassert your dominance next time you run into those fellows.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or the next time _we_ run into them, if this mess hasn’t been sorted out by then.” He traced Jim’s jaw with a finger, smirking. “You may have your chair back, Captain; command is not my area of interest or expertise.”

Jim snorted. “Thank you so kindly for your permission,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “Think you could untie me, first?”

“You’re a grown man; untie yourself,” Leonard said. Seeing the expression on Jim’s face, his lips pursed. “You can’t, can you?”

Jim shrugged, giving Leonard the sheepish grin that was purely his—James would never deign to make such an expression.

“Knot-tying is an extremely useful skill,” Leonard said.

“Sure, sure,” Jim said, rolling his eyes. “As if you didn’t learn it just to spice up your freaky sex life.”

Someone choked on air; probably Spock, the prudish bastard.

“There are a multitude of real world applications, Jim,” Leonard said. “I don’t care what universe you’re from, there’ll always be primitive assholes with ropes or some such, and you damned well ought to know how to get in and out of them. Hell, I’ll bet even your Bones knows how to hog-tie a man.”

“What makes you say that?” Jim asked.

“He’s from the south,” Leonard said. “And surely there is no universe where southerners don’t think that shit is all sorts of amusing.”

“Hog-tying guys?” Jim asked, waving his arms as if Leonard needed a reminder of why they were having this exchange. “Somehow I don’t see Bones—”

“Maybe they still hog-tie actual hogs, then, I don’t know.” With a huff and a flick of his wrist, the shirt went loose around Jim’s arms. Leonard headed for the turbolift. A thought struck him as he stepped into the lift, so he turned and leaned against the door to keep it from closing. “And by the way, Jim: I don’t need to find ways to spice up my sex life.” He sneered. “That’s what James is for.”

And he stepped back into the lift and laughed at their expressions as the doors slid closed.

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

Christine still wouldn’t let him back in Sickbay—even had some security imbecile at the doors who shrugged at him helplessly but wouldn’t let him pass.

So he returned to his room. Well, not _his_ room (apparently Jim wasn’t comfortable letting him into Bones’ room), but the one he’d been assigned. It was Spartan; looked completely unlived in but for a single PADD of Bones’ Jim had given him. It was full of Medical Journals that were interesting enough, but, eerily, he had already read several of them.

They were slightly changed from the journals he remembered—gone were the tidbits about how to prolong treatment and blackmail patients and tweak ingredients to cause pain or death—but still recognizable.

He deleted most of them (surely his counterpart had memorized all of it by now; it was an old PADD), and in their place downloaded articles on Hippocrates, ethics, and the Prime Directive Spock had tried to explain. Out of curiosity, he also downloaded some of Joanna’s favorite fairy tales, to see the differences between those and the versions form his own universe.

He settled into a chair and began to read, but fell asleep halfway through ‘The Little Mermaid.’

In his dreams, he saw the terrified glint in Clay’s eyes as he woke to the sharp sting of a scalpel tracing his jaw; the expression of melancholy in Pike’s as Leonard told him he would never walk again. He heard Jocelyn’s screams as he tore Joanna from her womb; the petrified cries for help from drugged but conscious women as their overzealous rapists tore their bodies asunder.

Then he stood on new, trembling legs and stumbled out of the ocean, the screams and pictures fading into the sound of waves hitting the shore. A man—Jim, of course it was Jim—took him home, taught him to read and write, held his hand as he strengthened his legs.

Fell in love with another man—another him, the one called Bones—and married him.

After the ceremony, he went to the rocks that wandered into the ocean, tears pouring from his eyes like blood from a fatal wound. James rose from the ocean, dark and beautiful, a dagger in his hands. He presented it to Leonard with a wicked smile, eyes gleaming as he watched Leonard sneak into the palace and stand, dagger ready, at Jim’s bedside.

And Leonard’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding, stomach roiling. Gracelessly he made his way to the bathroom, somehow managing not to vomit on the floor. The acrid smell made him choke. The faces of his nightmare’s tormenters reappeared in his mind’s eye, and he threw up again.

He flushed, resting his face against the cool porcelain, and tried to recover his breath.

What was the feeling the dream had incited in him? The emotion that welled up in his chest as he held the dagger over Jim’s head?

Not anger, or jealousy. Certainly not fear; probably not shock. It was something painful; his hands shook just thinking about it.

And then he knew: he was _appalled_. Had balked at the mere notion of killing Jim and his lover. Hell, even his past actions, once a source of pride, now brought forth only this new, alien emotion.

He pulled himself up and to the sink. Brushed his teeth mechanically and splashed water on his face. Tried to imagine cutting into someone—anyone—and had to resist the urge to return his previous position by the toilet.

“Dammit,” he said, voice raw with emotion, hands so tight on the edge of the sink his fingers went stark white. “Mother fucking dammit.”

He looked up into the mirror and watched his face twist into something horrifying and familiar. Shouted something incomprehensible and shoved his fists into the mirror. Hardly noticed the biting pain of the glass cutting into his knuckles. When only a few shards remained in the frame he stormed out. Overturned a table as he came upon it. Kicked the chair he’d been sleeping in; chucked the PADD into a wall.

Screamed and fell to his knees when he realized there were tears streaming down his face. He tangled his fingers in his hair and yanked hard, crying out again.

“McCoy?” Jim’s voice was muffled by the door; his concern wasn’t. “McCoy, what’s happened? Let me in.”

He let out a wretched sob that shook his entire body, rocking back and forth. Another sob was torn from him as gentle hands settled on his back.

“What? What is it, McCoy?” Jim asked.

Leonard wanted to yell at him. To shake him until his brains bled from his ears. Leonard had gone soft in the few weeks since he was thrown into this world, and this man was at fault. His compassion—his freely given love—would be Leonard’s death, if (when) he was sent back to his own universe. There was no way Leonard could return to the cold, hard killer he had once been. Not after this.

He threw himself at Jim. Knocked him onto his back and pinned him to the floor. Jim struggled. Leonard balled his hands into Jim’s command shirt. Lifted him up. Slammed him back down with a disappointing thud. The carpeted floors cushioned the blow.

He smashed their mouths together, instead, hard and angry. Bit Jim’s lip. Shuddered when Jim’s hands came up to cup his face.

“Shh,” Jim murmured against his skin when they parted. “Shh, McCoy. It’s okay.”

His shoulders shook, burning rage dwindling to nothing in the face of the soothing fingers tracing his jaw, carded through his hair, wiped his tears away. His body went limp, but arms caught and encircled him, cradling him in a firm but tender embrace.

Leonard let himself be held and cried, because this man—this man he did and didn’t know—was to be his undoing. Even as he allowed Jim to comfort him he knew he would die for it. And Jim would return to his former life with Bones, banishing Leonard to some distant corner of his mind—an unhappy memory.

Jim rolled them over, lapping and kissing Leonard’s tears as they fell.

“Can I?” Jim asked, fingers dancing hesitantly around the hem of Leonard’s shirt.

“Of course you can,” Leonard said, voice shaking, and tried not to let on how shocked he was by the whispered admission. Jim’s eyes were rapt as he pulled up Leonard’s shirt, mouth following the slow reveal of skin. “Jim…”

“Let me take care of you, McCoy,” Jim said as he pressed an openmouthed kiss to one of Leonard’s nipples. He pushed a leg between Leonard’s. Smiled into Leonard’s clavicle when Leonard’s hips arched, seeking friction.

“You can…” Leonard was cut off by a content sigh when Jim pulled his own shirt off, pressing their bare chests together.

“Yeah?” Jim prompted, deft fingers already on the button of Leonard’s slacks.

“What?” Leonard asked.

“I can…?”

Leonard groaned, pushing his hips up to help Jim slide his pants off. “Leonard. You can call me Leonard.”

“Okay,” Jim said. He threw Leonard’s pants somewhere. Leaning down, his breath ghosting over the head of Leonard’s cock, he whispered, “Leonard.”

Leonard’s hips stuttered, his mouth dropping open into a silent ‘o’ of surprise as Jim took the opportunity to take Leonard’s cock in his mouth.

A twirl of his tongue and Leonard’s fingers curled in his hair. A press of his thumb against Leonard’s perineum and Leonard choked on a cry.

Jim pulled away, licking his lips obscenely. “Leonard.” He crawled up and leaned in until their lips almost touched. “Leonard, I want to make love to you.”

Leonard shivered and knew he was lost.

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

He woke slowly from a restful, dreamless sleep. Sated and comfortable in spite of the slight pain in his ass.

It took him a moment to realize there were arms around his waist; a warm chest pressed against his back; legs tangled with his.

He tensed, and wondered somewhat hysterically what the protocol for this was.

The body behind him shifted. Chapped lips kissed his bare shoulder, soft and affectionate.

“Good morning, Leonard,” Jim said.

Leonard let out a shaky breath and felt his body relax. Well, most of him relaxed—his dick stiffened.

“Good morning, Little Leonard,” Jim said, and laughed when Leonard elbowed him.

“Infant,” Leonard said. He sat up, sheets pooling at his waist. “When’d we get in the bed?”

“You passed out…after…and I carried you,” Jim said, sitting up so he could embrace Leonard again.

“Hm,” Leonard said. Stretching languidly, pushing Jim away and back down onto the bed, he said, “I’ve decided on my terms.”

“Terms?” Jim asked, amused and curious.

“Our little bet, yesterday,” Leonard said. “With the Klingons. I’ve decided on my terms.”

“Have you?” Jim asked, tucking his arms behind his head in a pose Leonard recognized as one James preferred when trying to seem nonchalant.

“Yes,” he said. “I would prefer more time, but…who knows how much time is left for me, here?”

“Okay,” Jim said, relaxing further into the pillows. “Go for it.”

“I’m going to tie you to the bed,” Leonard said, mouth twitching when Jim immediately tensed. “Then I’m going to cut you. Do you need one of those,” he waved his hand, like he might catch the word from thin air, “safe words?”

“It can be Pike,” Jim said. When Leonard gave him an odd look, he said, “Why would I ever say ‘Pike’ during sex? Or whatever this is?”

“I don’t know,” Leonard said. “Do you have some sort of surrogate daddy kink? Or a weird thing for fish? Is there a word for that?”

“No, no, and…I sincerely hope not,” Jim said.

“Alright, then.” He pushed himself away from Jim and off of the bed, gathering discarded items of clothing. “If I had my way, we’d be using real rope. And I would use much more intricate knots.” He tilted his head to one side thoughtfully as he used Jim’s command gold shirt to tie his left foot to the bed. “Odd that James is so well-versed in knots, yet you know nothing about them.”

“And you know this from personal experience?” Jim asked.

He smirked, partly from nostalgia but mostly in anticipation for the expression he knew would come to Jim’s face when he said, “This was James’ way of helping with my aviophobia.”

“So you and James…you’re…” Jim trailed off delicately.

“Lovers?” Leonard asked. “Remember I said he was a gladiator?” James nodded. “He was very good. The Emperor decided he was too good—killed too many of his fellows in too short a time—and I…persuaded him to turn James over to my care.”

“And you fucked him?” Jim asked. “Did you…was it…?”

“Rape?” Leonard finished for him again, watching Jim grimace. “He was a slave, so I suppose even an argument that it was consensual would be written off as consent under duress.” He shrugged, and leaned over Jim’s prone form, dagger in hand. “He seemed to enjoy it, at the time.”

“Have you done this to him?” Jim asked.

“James doesn’t enjoy being tied up,” Leonard said, watching Jim’s face carefully as he dragged the knife along his clavicle.

“But I do?” Jim asked.

“James was a slave,” Leonard said, lapping up the blood and reveling in how strange and familiar it was. “Being bound by more than words upsets him. You, who have always been a free man, do not share that predilection.”

“Ah,” said Jim, arching into the next slice.

“He does enjoy being hurt, though,” Leonard said with a smile, soothing the cut with a gentle kiss.

“And you care?” Jim asked. “You care what upsets or excites him? I thought…from everything you’ve said about your universe, I didn’t think…”

“You aren’t wrong,” Leonard said. “I enjoy inciting pain in others. Psychological just as much as physical. But James is not an ‘other.’ He is James and he is mine.”

“Does he feel the same?” Jim asked.

“I am his,” Leonard said. “He knows that just as surely as I know he is mine, yes. We don’t hurt what is ours, nor do we allow others to hurt what is ours. I suppose it is something like what you call ‘love.’”

“Oh,” Jim said, and whined as Leonard kissed him, pushing the taste of his own blood into his mouth.

“Indeed,” Leonard said, chuckling breathlessly into Jim’s throat as he kissed Jim’s pulse point, dragging his mouth over it and missing the upraised skin of James’ scars.

He nosed a tiny mark on Jim’s shoulder. His skin was so clear; there were so few scars, unlike the plethora covering James’ body. Leonard had wanted to mark him almost at first sight—upon noticing the scar that usually peaked out from behind James’ collar wasn’t present on Jim’s throat. He wanted to pepper his skin with bruises and bite marks and, yes, well-placed cuts like those now littering the otherwise untouched planes of Jim’s chest and stomach.

“Of course you can,” Jim said before Leonard could ask, eyes bluer than Leonard had ever seen them.

Leonard’s teeth sank into Jim’s skin, and he groaned, deep and guttural, in reply to Jim’s hiss. Jim’s hips thrust up, searching for the friction that would provide relief. Leonard’s stomach wasn’t enough—especially now, slick with pre-come.

“Untie me,” Jim said. He jerked against his bonds, pupils blown beneath golden lashes, tongue flicking out to wet his lips.

“No,” Leonard said. He wrapped a hand around Jim’s cock, taking the head in his mouth but no more—some things, like the kink for being tied up, didn’t seem to transcend the universes. This did.

He wondered what similarities and differences there were between him and his own counterpart, and made a note to ask James when he returned. (He would ask Jim, but Jim seemed to have a sentimental inability to see any difference between them, as if by believing Leonard was good he could make it true. And, hell, maybe in some small way it was.)

“Please, McCoy,” Jim said, jerking when Leonard pulled away to give him an expectant look. “Leonard, fuck, please. I want to touch you.”

“We’re touching,” Leonard said before returning to his work. Another thing that held true: Jim (James) was beautiful when he was falling apart.

“That’s not—God,” Jim said, unable to finish as he watched Leonard suck hard, cheeks hollow around him. A twirl of Leonard’s tongue and Jim came, a cry pushing its way out from deep in his gut.

Leonard pulled away too soon and ended up with come dripping from his cheek. His nose wrinkled. He tried once to wipe it off with an arm, then thought better of it and undid the shirt around one of Jim’s ankles. He wiped Jim off, too. He undid the other knots with mostly no pomp and circumstance, though he couldn’t stop himself from running a finger across Jim’s chest, admiring his own handiwork. The blood was already dry for the most part, but the salt from his skin must still have burned the few cuts that had yet to fully close because Jim winced.

“Let me,” Jim said, reaching for his erection, but Leonard batted him away and collapsed on the bed next to him, facing the wall. “Leonard?”

Leonard frowned. He wasn’t used to asking for what he wanted; James always seemed to know and he thought he was being obvious, curled up as he was. He reached behind without looking and groped around until he found Jim’s hand, yanking until Jim’s arm was snug around his waist. He tangled their fingers together and sighed. If all relationships were like this, it was a wonder anyone over the age of consent had need of a blanket. Jim seemed unusually hot, pressed against his back.

“You and James don’t do this, do you?” Jim asked.

“You and Bones don’t do what we just did, either,” Leonard said huffily. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

Jim chortled, breath tickling Leonard’s neck. He kissed Leonard once at a spot just behind his ear, which was surprisingly sensitive. Then again, and again, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses along the curve of his neck and shoulder.

“We can’t do this,” Leonard admitted in a whisper, sighing quietly. “Can’t afford to, with all the assassination attempts and the like. We sleep back to back.”

“That’s sad and romantic at the same time,” Jim said.

“Romantic?” Leonard snorted.

“You watch each other’s backs,” Jim said. “Does everyone do that? They all find someone they can trust the way you and James seem to trust each other?”

“No,” Leonard said. “We are one of the few. I could never have slept with my back facing Jocelyn. I suppose it’s the reason I chose James.”

“You wanted to trust someone,” Jim said, pulling him closer. “How did you know you could trust him?”

Leonard bit his lip. “I didn’t. Not for sure. But James became a slave for his family—gave up his freedom for his nephews’. I...I wanted…”

“You wanted?” Jim prompted.

Leonard huffed. Jim was far more talkative than James, for better or worse. “Loyalty. Trust, I guess.”

Jim laughed again, but kissed Leonard’s neck soothingly when he stiffened. “It’s sweet, is all. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Yeah, well,” Leonard said, hating the way his cheeks turned red. “I chose him and it…it worked out. It’s working out. I’ll have a swift death, now, unlike what I’d have had to look forward to with Jocelyn.”

He could feel Jim’s confusion; the puzzled twist of his features against Leonard’s skin.

“James is going to kill me, someday,” Leonard said. “Him or Joanna. I’ll get sick, or hurt, or just plain old, and one of them will let me go. I did the same for my father. I’ll do the same for James, if he’s destined to go first.”

“That’s…”

“Love,” Leonard said. “You would call it love.”

“I call it _morbid_ ,” Jim said.

“I suppose you can’t understand.” Leonard shrugged.

“Explain it to me,” Jim said softly.

Silence fell over them for a moment.

“Long ago, in a time when gods walked among mortal men,” he said finally, “there was a sculptor named Pygmalion—a woman-hater. But he still yearned for the touch of a woman, and set about to sculpt a perfect woman for himself. Upon completing it, he searched far and wide for a woman who matched this perfect image, but could find none. The goddess of love took pity on him and when next he kissed his statue he found her lips soft and yielding. He called her Galatea. As he lay on his deathbed, wretched from the sickness that wracked his weak body, she came to him with a dagger and said, ‘none has loved you as I. Who better to end your suffering than the one who holds your heart?’ She kissed him, and plunged the dagger in his chest.”

“Our myths were never clear about what happened to him,” Jim said thoughtfully.

“Your myths would no doubt have given him a much sappier ending,” Leonard said with a shrug.

“Sappy isn’t so bad,” Jim said, pushing at Leonard’s shoulder until he rolled over obligingly. Then he smirked and opened his arms, ignoring the way Leonard cast an exasperated look at the heavens before moving into the embrace.

It felt unnatural for Leonard to lean his head into Jim’s chest; to hook his arms around him; to be held.

But, fuck, it felt so _nice_.

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

“Yeoman Rand was attacked, today,” Jim said, hands clenching, refusing to meet Leonard’s eyes.

“I know,” Leonard said. “Christine finally let me back into Sickbay. She’ll recover just fine, physically. Can’t say as to her mental or emotional recovery.”

“She shouldn’t have to recover from anything like this,” Jim said vehemently. “This ship is our home; our family. She—hell, everyone onboard—should be safe here.”

Leonard couldn’t understand that sort of conviction. Such faith in his cohorts. To Leonard, the attack on Rand was an inevitability. But the expression on Christine’s face when she made the report to him and the expression Jim wore now spoke of much different certainties.

“There’s not enough evidence to ensure a guilty verdict,” Jim said. “He’ll be court martialed, and I won’t have him on my ship any longer than it takes to get to the nearest star base, but there’s no guarantee he’ll be imprisoned or even dishonorably discharged.”

“You need him to confess,” Leonard said.

Jim snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Jim.” Leonard put a hand under Jim’s chin and forced the other man to look up into his eyes. “Jim, I need to hurt someone.”

“Pardon?” Jim’s eyebrows furrowed; he hadn’t followed Leonard’s line of thought.

“I had a certain skill for getting confessions, in my universe,” Leonard said.

Jim blanched. “Leonard, I can’t let you do that. They’d throw the confession out of court. Besides, you’re not…this isn’t your universe. You aren’t…like that, anymore.”

“But I can’t stay like this if I’m to survive going back to my own universe,” he said. “I hope your Bones will make it back—hell, if he’s dead I guess it’s possible I’ll never return. But if I’m going to make it there I can’t go back like I am now. I can’t break down like I did the other night, not even in the privacy of my own room. I can’t hesitate to hurt or kill. Your idea of civilization, of making me civilized, will kill me.”

“Leonard…”

“I’m not asking you to hand a crewman over to me willy-nilly, Jim,” he said. “Just give me two hours with this guy. You can watch; I won’t do more than throw him around a little. Threaten him some. Please, Jim.”

“You’ll stop if he talks,” Jim said after a long pause.

“I’ll stop if he confesses,” Leonard corrected gently.

“Or if I tell you to stop,” Jim said. “No hesitation.”

“Alright,” Leonard said. “Thank you.”

(ITRUSTTHATYOU’REAWAREOFTHEPAGEBREAK)

“You have two hours,” Jim said, and walked into the observation room without a backward glance.

Leonard entered the interrogation chamber and sat down across from the man—Ensign Jonathon Goodkind. He placed a small set of ancient medical tools on the table, taking his time to lay them out. Leaning back into his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest and stared.

Ensign Goodkind was a classically handsome man, all dark hair and bright eyes, sculpted features, slightly tanned skin. Baffling that he would need to coerce and attack a bed partner in this shiny universe with its kind words and easy smiles.

It was a matter of personality, he supposed, and the petulant expression on Goodkind’s face spoke of a bad one. The kind that might have helped him excel in Leonard’s universe (he was sure many people thought they were kindred spirits. More likely it would have pissed someone—possibly even Leonard himself—off and gotten him killed or tortured or both.

They sat like that for the better part of an hour, staring at each other.

“I’m not confessing to anything,” Goodkind finally spoke. His voice was deep, snarling in the easy way of those who didn’t know how to speak gently.

“Good,” Leonard said. He pulled a wet stone out of his pocket and picked up one of the scalpels, inspecting it for a moment before he began sharpening it idly.

“You aren’t scaring me, sir,” Goodkind said after watching him for a moment. ‘Sir’ didn’t sound like a title of respect.

“That’s good,” Leonard said. Held up a hand and tested the blade on his own skin. Without wiping the blood away from the scalpel, he set it back down on the table and picked up the next. Seeing Goodkind stare at the bloody blade, mouth twisted in an expression of poorly concealed disgust and shock, he said, “Don’t worry, Ensign, I test myself regularly.” As if that should have been the source of any worry Goodkind might have had.

“Of course,” Goodkind said. The next time Leonard tested a blade, he flinched. Blurting the words out like he couldn’t stop himself, he said, “I didn’t do anything to Rand.”

“I’m sure,” Leonard said, straightening one of the scalpels.

“Nothing she didn’t want.”

“I see,” Leonard said, lip curling. Of course, in his universe rape was a way of life. No one really cared enough to hide it because it was expected, and they sure as hell never pretended such attentions were _wanted_. He wondered if that was better or worse than this man’s poor attempts at concealment. “She never said no?”

Goodkind’s pause was answer enough. “No, she didn’t.”

“Didn’t or couldn’t?” Leonard asked. “See, Christine did the exam, herself, and her report says Yeoman Rand was tied up and gagged.”

“She wanted to be tied up,” Goodkind said quickly.

“Ah,” Leonard said. “So what you’re telling me is that you’re incompetent.”

“I’m—what?”

“Incompetent. You tied the ropes—or whatever you used—far too tight. If she hadn’t gotten away when she did we might have had to amputate. And that’s the least of it,” he said. “Which tells me you’re either a terrible bed partner or a horrendously bad liar. Or the option I’m going to go with: both.”

“It’s not like you’ve got room to talk, McCoy,” Goodkind said. “I’ve heard about the universe you live in.”

Leonard laughed throatily, and wondered how long it was going to take Goodkind to really cotton on to just how much danger he was in. Or would be in if Jim wasn’t waiting in the next room to hold Leonard back.

“That’s right, Ensign,” he said. He motioned at the scalpels. “You see those? In my universe, I used that same set to skin my dearly departed ex-wife’s lover. And when I’d finished, I hung him from the ceiling, still alive, and made him watch me do the same to her.”

Goodkind stared at him, mouth hanging open.

“But let me tell you something: even back home I don’t hold with folks attacking my family. And in this universe your dear captain has turned this whole crew into one big dysfunctional family, which makes little Miss Rand my step-daughter, of sorts.” He stood, planting both hands on the table and leaning over so he loomed over Goodkind. He found himself reveling in the terror in the man’s eyes, and wondered if maybe he was shaking off some the softness this universe was trying to instill in him.

“So?” Goodkind asked, sputtering as he attempted to rein in his fear.

“If I had my way, I’d cut out your eyeballs and mount them so you could watch me hack off your insignificant prick. But since we aren’t in my universe I’m going to give you a chance to do the right thing and confess before I knock out the folks watching us from the other room and take you away to some dark corner of the ship where no one’ll hear you scream.”

“You’re crazy,” Goodkind said, an edge of hysteria in his voice. Then again, “You’re fucking crazy.” Again and again like a mantra.

Leonard let the man go on for a moment before he tired of it. Reaching across the table, he grabbed Goodkind by the hair and slammed his face against the table.

“You shut the fuck up unless you’re confessing, you sack of shit,” he snarled, and slapped Goodkind when he tried to say something. “You going to confess now, Ensign? Or are you going to start sniveling again?”

“I’ll confess,” Goodkind said just as the door opened. “You sick fuck, I’ll confess.”

“Doctor,” Jim said, voice hard.

Leonard took a small recording device and set it on the table in front of Goodkind. “Confess,” he said, then allowed Jim to usher him out.

Before the door could close, he turned and looked at Goodkind from behind Jim’s back. He flashed a hypospray at Goodkind and smirked at the way Goodkind’s eyes widened.

He kept his face blank and his spine straight as he walked back to his room. Nodded at Jim, who gave him a disappointed look before continuing to his quarters. Sneered at the Security Ensign taking up a post outside his door.

And then the door hissed shut. His face fell and he leaned up against the wall. Hands covering his face, he slid to the ground. He took a few deep breaths, willing his hands to stop shaking until he suddenly realized it wasn’t just his hands—his entire body was trembling.

“Shit,” he said, and forced himself to stand and walk to his bed.

His dreams that night were plagued with nightmares.

His dreams from then on were plagued with nightmares.


	5. Chapter 5

“You look nervous,” Jim said as they readied themselves to leave for the transporter chamber.

“This adventure has not in any way convinced me of the reliability of transporters,” Leonard said.

“But you did have fun,” Jim said brightly, completely undeterred by Leonard’s cynicism.

“Fun is one word for it,” Leonard said. “But if I end up in yet another parallel universe I’m going to be…quite put out, to say the least.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ll go on a rampage and cut down any mortal foolish enough to get in your path?” Jim asked.

Leonard’s eyebrows rose. It was the first time Jim had referenced Leonard’s…unpleasant proclivities without going white. And while he had begrudgingly acknowledged the many changes he had undergone because of Jim, this was the first indicator he’d seen that he might also have changed Jim.

“Your levity is not inspiring my confidence, Jim,” he said instead of commenting. Then grimaced and added, “But I…appreciate the effort.”

“You could stay, you know,” Jim said softly.

“And leave your Bones in my universe?” He snorted.

“Well, no, but…we could figure out some way for you to stay here,” Jim said.

“Jim, you know I can’t stay.” One corner of his mouth quirked up into a grin. “I’ve got my own Kirk to keep from killing himself, after all. And Joanna…”

“Yeah,” Jim said. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, obviously warring with himself over something. After a moment, he threw his arms around Leonard in a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, you psychopath.”

As always, he stiffened for a while before finally relaxing into Jim’s arms. He raised his own arms and returned the embrace hesitantly—he still didn’t quite have a grasp on the logistics of hugging someone larger than Joanna.

“You, too, Jim,” he said into Jim’s neck, voice thick with emotion.

“I don’t have to take care of myself,” Jim said. “That’s what I’ve got you—I mean, Bones—for.”

He tried to laugh, but found himself sobbing instead. Jim’s hands clenched at the fabric of his shirt, his arms tightening to the point of discomfort.

“If all it takes is another body for him to switch with, we could…”

“Send Goodkind, instead?” Leonard asked, and shook his head when Jim shrugged, sniffling loudly. “You wouldn’t, really. And I’ve got to get home before this crying shit becomes a habit.”

“You should keep the cuddling thing, though,” Jim said, releasing him and wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeve. “You’re a champion cuddler for a guy who claims to never have done it before.”

“Somehow I don’t think that would end well,” Leonard said, feeling his cheeks darken ever-so-slightly.

Jim waved him off airily. “If someone gets bitchy about it, you can do your evil voodoo stuff and change their mind.”

Leonard chuckled. “If you’ll promise to take some knot-tying classes, I’ll promise to attempt to incorporate cuddling into my universe,” he said, completely deadpan.

“Done,” Jim said. “Throw in hugging, too. And footsy. You’ll take over the world using public displays of affection.”

“No throwing in additional clauses,” Leonard said, but couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face.

The comm on the wall beeped.

“ _Captain, the transporter is ready_ ,” not-Spock said.

“We’re on our way, Spock,” Jim said, clapping a hand on Leonard’s shoulder. Leonard gave him an uneasy smile, but followed him to the turbolift and then to the transporter chamber.

“Doctor,” not-Spock said with a slight nod of his head.

“Mr. Spock,” Leonard said. Jim nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and nodding in not-Spock’s direction mischievously. He pursed his lips, but eventually shrugged and stepped forward, embracing not-Spock. Almost as soon as his arms had closed around the other man, though, he was pulling back and shoving him away.

Not-Spock made a strange choking noise, and something like an emotion crossed over his face before he smoothed his features and gave Leonard and Jim both what could only be called an exasperated look.

“See? He was almost flustered,” Jim said. “Think of what you could do to a bunch of unprepared super villains.”

Not-Spock’s expression changed to one that said something like ‘that is the most illogical bullshit I have ever heard.’

“I think I’ll stick to sneaking up on people and hypoing them in the neck,” Leonard said, unwilling to admit that he had probably been as flustered as not-Spock, if not more so.

“Like the frighteningly adept ninja assassin you are,” Jim said gravely.

Leonard rolled his eyes, and got the feeling not-Spock would have done the same were it not for his delicate Vulcan sensibilities.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Spock,” he said sincerely.

“It has been quite fascinating to make your acquaintance, Doctor,” not-Spock said. “Although, I confess, not an experience I wish to repeat.”

Leonard made a face. “Could’ve left that part out, you damned green-blooded hobgoblin.”

“Indeed,” not-Spock said.

Leonard took a deep, steadying breath and stepped up onto the transporter pad.

“Tell other-me to take care of you,” Jim said. “You might be a sadistic psychopath with an unusual fondness for ropes and scalpels, but you’re a good man.”

Although he obviously wanted to, not-Spock—bless his cold little heart—refrained from commenting.

“Tell Christine I still think she should withhold anesthesia the next time one of those Engineering bozos comes in for a perfectly avoidable injury,” Leonard said.

“Sorry, Leonard, but no can do. I enjoy having a working penis,” Jim said.

Leonard snorted. As if this universe’s Christine Chapel—with her Hippocratic Oath and code of ethics—would ever actually follow through on any of her threats.

Jim’s face softened. “Leonard—”

“Energize, Mr. Spock,” Leonard said roughly.

Not-Spock nodded. With one hand he finished the transporter sequence. With the other, he offered Leonard the ta’al.

Leonard raised a hand in return, and shivered as the familiar feeling of being separated into a thousand tingling particles settled over him.

It was the first time he had ever transported with a feeling of anticipation mixed in with his customary dread.

(INEVERYREVOLUTION,THERE’SONEMANWITHAPAGEBREAK)

He rematerialized slowly, feeling as though someone had socked him in the gut.

“Leonard?” The voice was almost tentative.

“James.” He breathed out the word, and had to physically restrain himself from leaping off the pad and into James’ arms. Because, of course, James’ arms wouldn’t know to catch him.

At least, he thought they wouldn’t. Instead, he was surprised to find himself yanked off the platform and into an (almost literally) bone crushing hug.

James cleared his throat and pushed him away before he could return the embrace, however, and Leonard silently lamented the lost opportunity.

Someone made an uncomfortable sound. Leonard whipped around, unsheathing the dagger at his hip without conscious thought. Threw it without pause. Flinched minutely as he watched it sink into an ensign’s eye, but was gratified to see that was the only indicator of the changes the other universe had wrought.

James made a thoughtful noise.

“And here I thought you might have lost your touch,” he mused.

“Not that, no,” Leonard said, and once again stopped himself from reaching for James.

“How was it, over there?” James asked.

“It was…” Leonard considered for a moment. “Nice. It was nice.”

James’ nose wrinkled. “I thought as much. That Bones fellow was almost laughably vulnerable.”

“And kinky, I’ll bet,” Leonard said. “Or did you not sleep with him?”

“Of course I did,” James said. “In so much as I could—I think we slept more than anything else. Kinky bastard made us do something called _spooning_.”

Oh, yes. For such an innocent universe to create so perverse a fetish was…surprising, to say the least.

James jerked, as if he had started doing something but stopped himself halfway through. Then he reached up and patted Leonard’s shoulder uncertainly. “It’s…good to have you back, Leonard.”

Leonard reached up and squeezed James’ hand. “Where’s Joanna?” He let go, and James’ hand fell away. He immediately missed the warmth on his shoulder.

“Refused to leave her room this morning,” James said. “She was quite fond of him—wanted to send someone else in his place.”

Leonard’s mouth twitched. “Ensign Goodkind?”

“However did you guess?” James asked.

“In the other universe he raped a girl,” Leonard said with mock horror, lips curling up at the corners.

The two men exchanged a glance and laughed.

(INEVERYREVOLUTION,THERE’SONEMANWITHAPAGEBREAK)

“Daddy,” Joanna said, throwing herself into his arms. He squeezed tight, and wondered how he had gone two weeks without holding her. Wondered how Bones did it.

He saw the other Joanna exactly once—she was so innocent and beautiful that, to be frank, it had broken his heart a little. Because even the other universe wasn’t so pure that it wouldn’t eventually destroy her innocence, and Bones wouldn’t be around to comfort or shield her.

“I missed you,” she said as she pulled away. “I liked Papa Bones but he wouldn’t even let me dissect the mice Gabby brought me.”

It took Leonard a moment to remember—Gabby, the ship’s cat, was inexplicably fond of Joanna and often brought her ‘presents,’ which Joanna promptly cut up and fed her.

“His universe has very…strange ideas about what is appropriate for little girls,” Leonard said.

“Yeah,” Joanna said. “Papa Bones said he’s getting his daughter an amateur chemistry set for her birthday.” She shook her head. “She’s going to be eleven just like me but she’s only getting an amateur chemistry set. I don’t think she’s ever dissected anything, either.”

“Apparently, cutting up animals is the sign of a serial killer, in that universe,” James said, leaning against the doorframe. “Not something to be encouraged.”

“Serial killer?” Joanna repeated, frowning.

“They don’t kill unless they have to,” Leonard said. “People who kill for fun are anomalies.”

“That’s so weird,” Joanna said, wrinkling her nose.

“Indeed.” Leonard chuckled and stood. “Let’s go to the cafeteria and eat, shall we? Transportation always makes me hungry.”

Joanna nodded and grabbed his hand, not meeting his gaze when he gave her a curious look. She hadn’t held his hand since she was five years old—a year or so earlier than most children, he had noted with pride at the time.

His thoughts went to Bones and his Joanna, who hadn’t seen each other in person in years. Jaw clenching at the very thought (he should have stuck around long enough to go to Earth and take care of Jocelyn again), he squeezed Joanna’s hand. Reveled in the feeling of her warm little hand in his.

A few Security ensigns flinched when they saw Leonard walk into the cafeteria. He scowled at them; as one, they stood and left. He arched an eyebrow at James, who wasn’t looking at him. Who was very suspiciously looking at anything except him.

“James, what did my doppelganger get up to that has Security running in fear?” Leonard asked. “Don’t tell me Jim’s theory about world domination via public displays of affection held merit?”

James chuckled. “Remember the time that Glorkhian tried to abduct Joanna for ransom and you went berserk and stole Sulu’s katana and stabbed him in the face?” James asked.

“Yes,” Leonard said, because of course he did.

“Right. So some ensigns noticed Bones doting on Joanna and thought they’d try to do the same thing,” James said. “The kidnapping, I mean. Pretty sure they planned to kill him and trap you in the other universe.”

“Okay,” he said slowly, taking his customary seat to James’ right. Joanna sat on Leonard’s other side and scooted her seat closer, leaning into him.

“Joanna got caught in the crossfire—just a little bump, but as it turns out, Bones is rather like you in his overprotective streak,” James said. “Though slightly less…final in his punishments.”

“He bashed one of them over the head with a bedpan and hypo’d the other with something he was allergic to,” Joanna said. “It was crude, but extremely effective.”

“Proving once and for all that one should never attack a doctor in his domain,” Uhura said as she slid into her customary seat across from Joanna and to Spock’s left. She smiled at Leonard. “It is nice to see you again, Dr. McCoy. I trust your time away from us was…pleasant?”

“In some ways,” Leonard said. In spite of her bizarre fondness for Spock, Uhura was one of his favorites among James’ hand-picked Alpha Crew. A lady from her carefully arranged hair to her perfectly polished boots, she was just the sort of ruthless, bewitching woman he hoped Joanna would someday become. “Though I’m due a nice, long chat with Mr. Scott.”

“Naturally,” she said. “Bones was most emphatic about the dangers of experimenting with transporters. I do believe he lectured Mr. Scott more in these two weeks than the Admiralty could manage in twice the time.”

“Leonard’s always been a champion lecturer,” James said.

“Any word on the anomaly?” Leonard asked, turning to Chekov. “You—and your counterpart—figured out enough to switch me back, obviously. What more do we know about it?”

“Much of our time was spent untangling the mess the ion storm made of the transporter’s circuitry,” Chekov said in that odd, heavily accented way of his. “Mr. Scott and I have been attempting to recreate the incident, but it would seem both universes have to be in almost perfect synch for the transportation to work.”

“So the other universe would have to be doing the same thing at the same time,” Leonard said.

“Yes,” Chekov said, looking somewhat melancholic. “I tried to send myself, but it would seem my counterpart is not as eager to come here as I am to go there.”

“For good reason,” Leonard said under his breath, thinking of the spritely, innocent alternate-Chekov. “Hell, I’m surprised Bones survived coming here.”

“You don’t give yourself—your other self, rather—enough credit,” James said. “Although Chapel had to kick him out of Medical.”

“Oh?” Leonard asked, mouth twitching.

“He kept trying to give patients anesthesia for every little thing,” James said.

“It’s unethical to leave a patient in pain when it’s in your power to relieve it,” Leonard said with a straight face.

“That’s what he said, too.” James shook his head.

“It’ll be a shame if we can’t figure out how to get to the other universe,” Sulu said. “Sounds like it’d be an easy conquest.”

Leonard thought of the cold anger in Jim’s eyes in the face of Goodkind’s crime. The little moments where he and James could almost have been the same person.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said when he realized everyone’s eyes were on him. “Hesitancy to kill aside, they’re a rather tough lot.”

“Which would make it a fun conquest,” Sulu said, lips curling into a sneer that pulled the scar tissue in his face and made him look even more sinister than usual.

“Perhaps that is why my counterpart does not want to play,” Chekov said with a melodramatic sigh.

“We can play with the prisoners later,” Sulu said.

“These the prisoners Bones took out with medical supplies?” Leonard asked.

“A few of them,” James said. “The rest are the Security officers who failed to stop them from making it all the way to Medical in the first place.”

“Ah,” Leonard said. He almost felt sorrier for the Security officers—attempting a coup was an offense punishable by death. Failing to stop that coup was an offense punishable by torture and _then_ death.

Then again, their failure had apparently allowed Joanna to get hurt. Perhaps he could talk Sulu and Chekov into allowing him to impose on their penal duties.

“How is it that Bones’ attack on Goodkind and his little posse frightened Security so badly?” he asked.

“Besides showing them that even a softie like him could and would take them out if they did anything that brought harm to Joanna?” James asked.

Leonard nodded.

“He gave them all physicals, afterward,” James said. “I wasn’t allowed to oversee them—something about doctor-patient confidentiality; is that a thing, in the other universe?—but apparently he was rather brutal.”

“Christine said my counterpart is known for his…brusque bedside manner,” Leonard said thoughtfully.

“Brusque, perhaps, but also concerned,” Chekov said. “Genuinely concerned. He even cured Ensign O’Brian’s concussion.”

So this ‘O’Brian’ character was the one who had made the mistake of putting Joanna in harm’s way. Leonard tucked the information away for later use.

“Scuttlebutt has it he didn’t even try to turn him into a vegetable,” Chekov said with no small amount of disappointment.

“Then again, with full consciousness he won’t be able to escape punishment,” Sulu said. “So perhaps Bones isn’t as kind as we think.”

“That is true,” Chekov said, brightening. “We will have to take extra special care of O’Brian, da?”

“Something we haven’t done to a prisoner, before,” Sulu agreed, obviously relishing the prospect.

“I could help,” Uhura said. “I have some new harp strings I’ve been dying to try out—they’re supposed to be able to cut through bone and still play when strung.”

“But that would be so quick,” Chekov said, voice a high-pitched whine.

“Not if we started with a finger and continued from there,” she said.

“I’ve always wanted to try bamboo torture,” Sulu said. “But that only works so long as there are nails left.”

“Best torture is Russian,” Chekov said. “I have an old head crusher in my chambers.”

“He won’t bleed to death if we’re careful,” Uhura said. “Sulu can start, then me, and we’ll finish him off with the head crusher.”

Leonard took a deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly uneasy stomach without getting anyone’s attention. The other universe must have really done a number on him, if merely hearing of such tortures made him queasy.

“It’ll be at least a week before we’re out of this part of space,” she said. “Plenty of time for everyone to get a turn.”

He stood abruptly, startling even himself.

“Leonard?” James asked.

“I don’t feel well,” he blurted, and prayed to whatever god would listen that they wouldn’t link his ‘sickness’ to their conversation. “Better go to Medical and make sure those damned fools in the other universe didn’t give me something.”

“I’m going with you,” Joanna said, hand already groping for his as she stood.

“I’d better go, too,” James said. “No telling yet if Goodkind’s got a man out there foolish enough to think you vulnerable.”

“We’ll know by tomorrow,” Chekov said with a grin.

“We’re going to Sickbay now,” James said, pursing his lips.

“Then we’d best get to work.” Sulu stood. “By your leave, Captain.”

“Go on,” James said. “I expect to find a detailed report on my desk by 0800.”

“Of course,” Chekov said, and trailed after Uhura and Sulu.

“I believe I shall seek out Mr. Scott,” Spock said, standing. “I am certain there is some logical explanation on how the ion storm affected the transporter in such a way.”

“And you need the logical explanation behind everything,” Leonard said.

“Indeed, Doctor,” Spock said. “A logical explanation might also provide insight into how we might duplicate the occurrence. I will admit I am…curious to know what the other universe is like.”

“It’s awful,” Leonard said sincerely, and left before Spock could comment further.

(INEVERYREVOLUTION,THERE’SONEMANWITHAPAGEBREAK)

Chapel declared him fit, of course, though she did suggest it might have been some sort of delayed reaction to the transporter. Given Leonard’s hatred of them, it could very well have been true.

Except for the part where it wasn’t true at all. Because the other universe really had made him sick; infected him with their pathetic do-good philosophies, their so called ‘ethics.’

Disgusted with himself, he made a mental note to visit the prisoners as soon as possible. Interrogating the other universe’s Goodkind had almost made him feel like himself again; surely the physical act of torture would finish off whatever kindness was left.

He tucked Joanna in with a light kiss on her forehead. For a moment as she looked up at him, he thought she might ask him to stay and sleep in her bed with her.

He should have felt proud when she didn’t—instead he felt slighted.

He trudged out of her room, rolling his shoulders to keep them from sagging. James eyes followed him for a moment before he pushed off of the wall.

Leonard paused in the doorway of their bedroom, frowning.

“The bed is against the wall,” Leonard said, looking back at James.

James looked away from him, clearing his throat awkwardly as his cheeks turned an almost unnoticeable shade of pink. “Yes, it is.”

“Why?” he asked, moving his head into James’ line of sight.

James glanced up at him, then away, shifting uncomfortably. “That…that spooning thing Bones liked to do was…” He trailed off, the pink darkening and spreading to the tips of his ears. “This way no one could sneak up behind us.”

“You—” Leonard hardly dared to believe it. “James, you _enjoyed_ the cuddling?”

“We can move it back.” James brushed past Leonard, but was stopped by Leonard’s hand on his arm.

“We don’t have to,” Leonard said, so quietly he wasn’t sure at first if James had heard him. But then James tangled their fingers together and began moving toward the bed again, pulling Leonard along after him.

A particularly hard tug brought them close enough together for Leonard to duck his head and press their lips together. James made a soft, contented sound, but continued backing up. With a yelp, he tumbled back onto the bed.

The movement startled a laugh out of Leonard, who kicked off his shoes and stripped off his shirt before clambering on the bed after James. He pulled James’ shirt off, too, biting his lip as James squirmed under him in an attempt to aid his progress.

Their mouths met again as Leonard tossed James’ shirt away. Leonard pulled back, eyes tracing every inch of James’ naked torso, and more than anything he wanted to—

To cover him in kisses, he realized with a start, and felt the blood rush first to his cheeks and then much, much further south.

James smiled and reached up, forcing Leonard’s head back down so they could kiss again. Their bodies rocked together, languid and sweet. The heat in Leonard’s stomach built slowly, but turned into an orgasm so intense he felt it from his scalp all the way down to the tips of his toes. James’ hips were still stuttering against his when he came down from the high, breath coming in pants that sent soft puffs of air against James’ neck.

He kissed the skin nearest to him reverently before allowing himself to collapse to one side. Reached for James’ hand again and brought it up to his lips.

They stripped their pants off and wiped themselves down when they regained the strength. Leonard dragged himself to the far side of the bed. James followed, chuckling when Leonard curled an arm around his waist and pulled them together, James’ back to Leonard’s front. They settled down and shared a few more stolen kisses, and drifted to sleep thoroughly entwined in each other’s arms.

They didn’t sleep long, Leonard was sure, though he was disoriented for a few moments after waking. Something—someone—was wriggling against him, making soft, sinful noises. His eyes creaked open and settled on James, whose back was still to him. One of James arms was twisted in an awkward position, fingers buried deep inside himself.

“Couldn’t wait for me?” he asked, stilling James’ movements with a hand on his arm.

“Wanted you in me as soon as you woke up,” James said breathlessly.

“Okay. Okay, just let me,” he said, scrabbling for the lube. Slicked himself up and slid home, gasping into James’ shoulder blades.

“Fuck, I love you,” James said, and said it again when Leonard groaned in response. “I love you, Leonard.”

“That’s so fucking hot,” Leonard said, hand grasping at James’ side to pull them even closer together. “Keep going, God.”

“Want you to hold me for the rest of our lives,” James said.

“Yeah?” Leonard asked.

“Your arms are so damn warm and strong and perfect.” James arched into Leonard’s thrusts. “Touch me, please.”

Leonard reached down and grabbed him gently, though his grip tightened when James whined, the sound shooting straight through Leonard’s body.

“So fucking much,” James said. “I love you so fucking much.”

“You, too,” Leonard said as he felt the first waves of his orgasm. “I love you, too.”

James cried out incomprehensibly, something that could have been Leonard’s name or another declaration of love or something else entirely. Whatever it was, just the sound of it—hoarse and wrung out and beautiful—sent Leonard tumbling over the edge.

And as they lay trembling in each other’s arms, Leonard thought that maybe, just maybe, the mirror universe had the right of it.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! I hope everyone enjoyed it, batshit insanity and all!
> 
> There is now some additional art, as well as a mix, which can both be found: [here](http://ellipsisthgreat.livejournal.com/29874.html)


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